


i followed fires

by orphan_account



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Anachronistic, Character Death, Character Study, Daemons, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Multi, POV Alternating, Sexual Content, Speculation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What do you think?”  Ellie says quietly, pressed against his side in the dark.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, a His Dark Materials AU in which there are daemons, Specters,  an identity crisis or two, and everything, even a daemon changing forms, happens for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i followed fires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neverfadingrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverfadingrain/gifts).



> Okay, so this is one of the hardest projects I've ever taken on. It's been three months since I sat down and started piecing it together, and I've fought with it for a while. In that vein, a huge thanks to Aubrey who kept pushing me to work at it, who tolerated my late-night spams and editing this thing into something coherent. You rock <3
> 
> You may know some of these daemons from an earlier work of mine, "Fallen Empires." That one wasn't the story I wanted to tell, so I told this one instead. (A note: that story has been deleted; it no longer exists on this website.) I've fleshed them out a bit more, changed some things, so hopefully this is a fresh take for you guys! 
> 
> Also posted before watching "The Suicide King," so it's spoiler-free! I think! 
> 
> <3 Enjoy! See the end for the rest daemon names/notes.
> 
> The Grimes Family: 
> 
> Rick—Eliora: Hebrew, “my god is light.” A white wolf. Wolves are symbols of loyalty, intelligence, friendliness, deep faith, profound understanding, and compassion. Negatively wolves are symbols of anger, vindictiveness, and obsessiveness. Wolves in real life communicate primarily through body language, and in Celtic lore are considered lunar symbols. In Chinese mythology, wolves guard the gates that lead to the heavenly, celestial realms, but do not enter themselves. 
> 
> Lori—Benoni: Hebrew, “son of my sorrow, son of my strength.” In the Bible, Benoni was the son of Rachel, who died while in childbirth. Beautiful Jay. Jays are positively associated with fearless protection of its loved ones, determination, assertiveness, and energy. It is negatively associated with loudness, rudeness, lack of attention, and trickery. Jays are related to both ravens and magpies and so often share the symbolism associated with those birds. 
> 
> Carl—Camarin: Chamaru, “shelterer, protector.” A gray wolf. See both Rick and Shane.
> 
> Judith—Ariav: Hebrew, “father is a lion.”

i followed fires

 

“What do you think?”  [Ellie](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me84wjHJEG1rbim06o1_500.jpg) says quietly, pressed against his side in the dark.  Her bright eyes are fixed on the prison, ears flattened thoughtfully.  It looks like a mess.  Walkers have overtaken the place, dozens, probably hundreds of them dwelling inside the walls.  In the place where he wants to put his pack.

But it’s got fences.  Razor wire.  Walls.  It’s _safe,_ he knows it is.  Ellie knows it is.  They can feel it.

Rick looks at her in the dark, letting her battle-readiness bleed into his own skin.  (They’ve been doing this a lot lately, becoming each other.  Blurring the lines, Daryl says.) 

“I think we’ve got a fight on our hands,” he says back, just as quietly.

Eliora bares her teeth.  “Don’t we always,” she says.

\-----

“You sure about this?” Daryl asks, watching the Specters move around inside the prison, clawing at Daryl and Rick through the dark. 

[Shay](http://pcdn.500px.net/12576073/19ab950425ca2da13f56b3d8657c574d4aaee978/4.jpg) shifts on his shoulder, hating the darkness, her wings just brushing Daryl’s head.  _Should’ve changed,_ she mutters, annoyed.  _Should’ve been an owl instead._

 _You’d be a terrible owl,_ Daryl says.  _You wouldn’t know wisdom if it bit your feathery ass._

Rick is quiet at Daryl’s side, Eliora even quieter at his.  They’re both watching the Specters with some intense, vicious focus that Daryl thinks has to belong to wolves. 

“Yes,” Rick says finally, his voice breaking the dark.  They’re sitting with their backs to what’s left of the campfire, side by side, keeping watch in case the fence breaks.  “I’m sure.”

Daryl doesn’t like it.  Closed-up spaces aren’t good for birds.

 _Wolves either,_ Shay says darkly, hopping off his shoulder to perch on Ellie’s head.  _But what are you gonna do?_

“We’ll take it tomorrow, then,” Daryl says quietly, watching the Specters, watching Rick.  

Shay sighs, digging her talons into the wolf’s fur.  She preens Ellie awkwardly, like she’d do if Ellie was another falcon instead of a wolf. 

“Yeah,” says Rick, eyes fixed straight ahead and burning, always burning since winter fell.  “Yeah, we will.”

\-----

Shay settled when Daryl was eight.  Young, even for a Dixon boy (Dixons usually reached the limits of their maturity around eleven or so).  Everybody at school talked about it.  Muttered about it.  Pointed and said, _he’s a freak.  Did you hear they think his daddy lit the fire that killed his mom?_

It wasn’t anything like that.  He wasn’t fucking _traumatized_ or nothing.  He was just… done.

Shay found what she was. 

A falcon, he later found out, cutting pictures out of library books.  A Nankeen Kestrel, to be exact.  One of the smallest birds of prey in the world.  Fast little fuckers, too.  Good hunters. 

Merle, then fifteen and drunk off his ass, pointed and laughed.  “She’s so fuckin’ tiny,” he crowed.  [Hekate](http://photos.zoochat.com/large/arabian_striped_hyena_25_-187644.jpg) was huge, all bulging muscle and teeth.  She could’ve snapped Shay up in one gulp.  (Their daddy’s daemon was like that.  Huge and powerful, a hyena like Hekate but spotted instead of striped.)  “Get her to change again, pussy.  Into somethin’ bigger. A wolf or somethin’.”

Shay refused. 

Merle had given them shit about it for years.  Used to make jokes about his sister Darlena and her itty bitty birdie.  _Tweetie Bird, Tweetie Bird!  I thought I saw a pussy cat!_

It stung a bit, but Daryl was fine with Shay.  Shay was fine with herself.  There was a sense of _right_ in her that stayed through everything else. 

She was what she was meant to be.  Anyone who said otherwise would get an arrow in the fucking ass.

(Besides, it turned out that being an itty bitty birdie was pretty damn useful at the end of the world.)

\-----

One good thing about Meiri’s size is how hard it is for walkers to get a hold of her.  They always go for her first.  Glenn doesn’t know what that’s about, but it’s the way it works.  They see her and go wild.

But they can’t catch her.  She’s too small and too fast.  She’s never in one place for long.  And she’s fucking _fearless._ (It scares him a lot of the time, how fearless his [Meiri](http://www.wellingtonzoo.com/imageGallery/explore/animals/asia/otter/lrg/Asian%20small%20clawed%20otter%20001.JPG) is.)

Walkers can’t get to her.

But every time they go out to fight, he’s terrified.  Meiri isn’t like Shay, who can fly.  She isn’t like Ellie, who has fangs and claws.  She isn’t even like Luke who can take care of himself, hissing and spitting like a lion. 

Meiri is just Meiri, small and fuzzy and utterly unable to take care of herself.

“Wrong,” she spits, tripping a walker. 

Glenn worries his lip, but it’s no use arguing with her.  (She always, always wins.)  He does his best to protect her, throwing himself after her.  The others look out for her too.  Shay’s come screaming out of the sky more than once to claw out a walker’s eyes and Ellie is a terror when her ‘pack’ of misfit daemons is threatened. 

Still, though.

“It’s no use worrying about it,” Mei says, curled against his neck once they finally clear the prison.  Maggie is molded into his other side and [Luke](http://25.media.tumblr.com/ec1f26ff539a9ed1154ed837507667bc/tumblr_mf31r86QNT1r843b5o1_500.jpg) is curled on his stomach.  All three of them weigh him down, keep him centered.  He doesn’t know what he’d do without them.

(“Die,” Luke mumbles matter-of-factly.  “Wouldn’t last a week, skinny thing like you.)

“I know,” Glenn mutters, trying not to wake his girlfriend. 

Mei licks his cheek tenderly.  “It is what it is,” she says.

 _Truer words,_ he thinks.  _Truer words._   

\-----

“You okay?”  Morgan asked, crouching down next to Rick.  Rick blinked, shaking himself, and pulled the quilt tighter around his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he lied, voice still rough from weeks (months?) of disuse.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Morgan snorted.  “Don’t look it,” he said.  His daemon, either the biggest housecat or smallest mountain lion Rick had ever seen, muttered something in Morgan’s ear, her golden eyes on Ellie.

Ellie.  Rick’s Ellie, who was sitting across the room determinedly not looking at him, her new bright eyes fixed on the things moving outside.  Rick didn’t know her shape anymore.  Her face was narrower, her shoulders leaner, her paws wider and her fur slightly grayed.  

“You wake up with her like that?”  Morgan’s daemon asked, ignoring the taboo completely, her gleaming eyes fixed on his face.

Rick stared.                                                       

“[Chizoba](http://www.edinburghzoo.org.uk/export/sites/default/common/images/animals/animaldatabase4/asiangoldencat.jpg),” Moragn said.  “Leave him alone.”

Chizoba’s tail twitched across the bedspread, just barely brushing Dwayne’s hair.  The boy’s daemon, unsettled still, just like Carl’s Cam, muttered and cuddled closer to her boy.  “You’re not the only one,” she said.  “Who woke up different, I mean.  Daemons have been changing for months now.”

“Why?”  Rick was afraid of the answer.  He knew what Ellie was now, a wolf, and wolves weren’t the daemons of stable, well-adjusted people.  Wolves belonged to murderers, to crazy people.

Across the room, Ellie snarled. 

Chizoba shrugged.  “No one knows,” she said.  “But it happens.”

“Did you change?”

Morgan winced, and Chizoba’s brilliant eyes dimmed.  “Now,” she growled gently, “what kind of question is that?”

\-----

Rick scares them when he fights.  He knows that he does.   It’d be hard not to.  Ellie’s a wolf, after all.  There’s not much scarier than a wolf with all her teeth on show, fur bristling in waves down her spine.

And the line between _Rick_ and _Ellie_ is getting ever thinner.  He moves like her now, he knows he does.  It’s hard not too when he’s so damn tired all the time and it’s easier to just drift away, disconnect from himself and let Ellie see and move for both of them.

Defense mechanisms, Hershel says.  He’s coping by retreating into his daemon. 

And it scares people. 

“It wasn’t my intention, you know,” Ellie says, after they’ve taken the prison and she’s curled into his side, keeping him warm.  (She’s the only one, these days, and even that’s hit-and-miss.  Ellie can go miles from him, and they need the meat she can bring back.) “I never wanted you to become like me.”

He smiles tiredly, eyes flickering shut.  “S’all right,” he rasps.  “It was bound to happen sooner or later, right?”

(He remembers watching himself, strangely enough.  He’d just stepped out of his body and watched himself fight, tearing into walkers like they were made of wet paper.)

Ellie looks at him with sad, gentle eyes.  It’s a strange expression for a wolf to wear.  “Yeah,” she murmurs, licking away some of his hurts.  “I guess it was.”

\-----

These prisoners remind Daryl a lot of what he should’ve been.  They’re a ragged bunch, messy clothes, dirty faces.  They’re pretty much clones of the kids Daryl ran with as a teenager. Same kinda ragged daemons too—dogs, mostly, droopy-eared, flea-bitten bastards.

They look at Daryl like they ain’t never seen a redneck before.  The leader—he’s gotta be the leader, he stands in the front and his daemon, some kind of coyote, has a _fuck you gonna do about it_ look on her narrow face—steps forward.

“The hell are you?”  the con growls.

“The hell are _you_?”  Daryl snaps back.  He doesn’t know these guys.  He doesn’t know what they’re in for. 

Shay doesn’t trust them.  The coyote makes her feathers stand on end.  ( _They feel like Specters,_ she murmurs.  _At least he does.  Dead inside._ )

“We asked you first.” 

“That’s enough,” Rick rumbles.  His hands are smeared red.  Ellie’s fur is streaked like she’s wearing war paint.  At the sight of a wolf, the prisoners pale.  Rick nods to Daryl, gratitude in his tired eyes.  Daryl shrugs back. 

 _Want me to shoot him?_ He asks, with the position of his bow and a twitch of Shay’s wings. 

Rick tilts his head, considering.  Ellie growls.  _No,_ his hands say.  _Not yet._

Shaylyn relaxes her wings.  There’s a death in the air today, she can feel it—maybe one of theirs, hopefully one of the cons.  The air feels like Dust and Specter’s hands. 

“We’ll be ready for it,” Shay murmurs.  “They’re not getting us today.”

“No,” Daryl agrees quietly, tightening his hands on his crossbow.  “Not today.”

\-----

His mother was a daemonologist.  She knew everything about one's daemon, what they meant, how their shape reflected the heart of their person.

“Such a pretty soul,” his mother said approvingly, the day Meiri settled.  Glenn had been in love with her wings, the curve of her neck, her slender legs.  She looked like something out of a movie.  Meiri looked like she was the daemon of some ancient king, not a pimply fifteen-year-old kid. 

“She’s going to do great things,” his mother said.  “You and her both, yes?” 

Herons were sacred.  Herons were symbols of peace and prosperity.  A heron’s soul meant balance and poise.  Grace in the face of adversity.  His grandfather’s daemon had been a heron.  He’d never seen his mother so proud.  (Or Mei so pleased with herself.)

“Sure,” Glenn had said.  He was just a stupid kid then.  He didn’t know anything about what life was really like.  All he knew was that Meiri had settled and his mom approved.

He wonders, a little bitterly, what his mom would say about Meiri’s shape now.

\-----

He’s never seen Maggie this scared.  Not when the farm fell, not during the long winter, not even when Randall’s group nearly got her, their bullet aimed for Luke’s heart.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says helplessly, looking at his daemon.  Hershel is dying.  [Ashling](http://birdsflight.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Raven.jpg) is pale against his chest and he’s _dying._ Glenn doesn’t know what to do.

Mei gives him a disbelieving look.  “Comfort her, dumbass,” she says.  (She doesn’t mean the dumbass part—deep down she’s just as terrified as he is.)

“ _How?_ ”

Meiri finally makes a frustrated noise, streaking down from his shoulder across their new little home.  She goes just far enough that it’s a pull on Glenn’s heart, paws resting on Maggie’s knees. 

“Maggie,” Glenn says.

Maggie looks down.  Her eyes are scarily blank.

 _Oh,_ Glenn thinks, crushed.  (Oh, oh.) 

Meiri climbs into Maggie’s lap, putting her soft fur under Maggie’s hands.  It feels weird, a bit stranger, a bit more desperate than the touching usual does, but Glenn gets the hint.  He winds his hands into Luke’s fur, anchoring him.  Grounding him.  That’s what lovers do, right?

“It’s okay,” Meiri says, letting Maggie stroke absent, frantic patterns down her spine.  “It’s okay, it’s okay—”

\-----

The trip to Atlanta was… unnerving.  Ellie didn’t say anything.  Rick didn’t know what to say.  They sat in the squad car just like they used to, him driving and Ellie staring straight ahead from the passenger seat.

It would’ve felt normal except for the fact that it _wasn’t._

“Ellie,” he tried weakly.  “What happened?”

She flattened her ears (shorter, rounder ears) against her skull.  “We died,” she said flatly. 

 “ _Died?_ ” 

She didn’t turn her head, but her pale eyes slid to meet his.  “Died,” she repeated.  Her voice was sharp and final.

Rick swallowed.  _Is that why you came back different?_ He wanted to ask.  He didn’t, of course.  He didn’t know how.  (Ellie heard it anyway.)

“It is what it is,” she snarled.  “Deal with it.”  She turned her eyes back to what lay ahead.  The clean, hard lines of her body warned him away. 

(Don’t touch her.  Don’t touch her.  Don’t touch her.)

Rick licked his lips and wisely said nothing.

\-----

Ellie kills Tómas.  She just…leaps up, paws connecting with his shoulders, and rips out his throat.  His daemon goes up in a cloud of dust, and one of the other prisoners bolts for it.

Ellie, her mouth soaked, snarls and goes after him.  Rick follows without hesitation—he can’t handle the way T and Daryl are looking at him, like he’s gone mad.  (And maybe he has—daemons don’t touch other people.  Only lovers’ daemons do that, and even that’s incredibly rare.)

He feels weird.  His soul just leaped forward and ripped out a man’s throat.  One snap of her jaws had ended a man’s life.

 _Shit happens,_ he thinks dryly. 

Ellie has the kid cornered in a yard, blocking the door.  Walkers are closing in and the kid’s begging with her, pleading with her.  She’s unyielding. 

Rick can feel his own damnation creep just a little closer.  “Ellie,” he says.  “Move, dear one.”

She looks up at him, mouth bloody, but steps aside.  The kid sobs, relieved, taking a step forward, and Rick closes the door in his face. 

“Run,” he says simply. 

The kid starts screaming again.  Rick can hear every fearful sob, and all of a sudden he can’t stand.  His legs give out and he sags, shaking wildly.

Ellie sighs.  “You didn’t have to,” she rumbles.  “I would’ve lied, you know.  Say that it just happened so fast, you had nothing to do with it.  You feel terrible, of course, and I’m—”

“A part of me,” Rick points out wearily.  He’s just _so tired._ Ellie noses his palm, smearing Tómas’s blood.  “We’re in this together, remember?  It is what it is.  You’re a wolf, there’s something wrong with me.  It goes hand in hand.”

Ellie snorts, angry again.  (She’s angry a lot, these days.)  “You make that sound like a bad thing,” she snaps crossly. 

“Do I?”  Rick stands again, forcing his legs to cooperate.  “Sorry.  It’s a good thing in this world, right?”

She, predictably, doesn’t answer.

\-----

[Ben](http://ibc.lynxeds.com/photo/beautiful-jay-cyanolyca-pulchra/bird-responded-tape-flying-next-lower-deck-tandayapa-lodge-gro) misses Ellie’s warmth at night.  Lori does too.  She misses Rick’s hands, his back, the patterns of his spine molded underneath her hands. 

She misses a lot of things, really.

 _It’s our own damn fault,_ she tells Ben, a little bitterly.  They are standing at the fence and Rick is the closest he’s been in months.  The urge to touch him is almost overwhelming.  (But Lori knows his language.  Don’t touch him unless he initiates.  Don’t corner him.  He’s a wild thing now.  Let him have his space.  Don’t touch him, don’t touch him.)

Ben makes a soft, angry sound.  He’s done waiting around. 

“Thank you,” Rick says slowly, hesitantly.  Ellie sighs, leaning closer to Lori.  Close enough to touch, almost.  Her fur is soft.  Her heart beats steadily, if Lori remembers right.

 “For what you’ve done for us.”  Rick pauses.  Swallows.  Searching for those tricky words again, and Ben nearly lunges from her shoulder to settle in his hair. _We understand,_ Ben wants to sing.  _We understand, we understand._   “We’re grateful.”

And then—

He initiates.  His hand is warm through her shirt—it burns.  Ellie tenderly licks her fingers.  Her heart sings.  Ben cries out, delighted.  Even the baby stirs.  (Alive, alive, her baby is alive.) 

Lori smiles at him, as brilliantly as she can.  She wants him to know that it’s okay.

“We love you,” Ben says quietly.  Ellie freezes.  “It’s okay, you know.  We might not know much else, but we know that we love you.”

Rick lets out a trembling breath and walks away without a word.   

\-----

“Ellie, come _back!_ ” he shouted, watchingher tear away from him in horrified surprise.  She was _leaving_ him.  Just streaking away like she wasn’t attached, like her abandonment wouldn’t kill him, wouldn’t have him stumble after her into the hands of those _things_ —

But as she got farther and farther away, it didn’t hurt.  Every child had tested the lengths of their range, trying to see how far they could go from their daemon.  Rick and Ellie had worked themselves up to about thirty feet. It was a requirement for all state policemen.  Any farther than that and Rick felt like someone was trying to tear his heart out through his ribcage.

But Ellie was fifty, sixty, seventy feet away, dancing and howling to draw the walkers away from him, and it _didn’t hurt._  He didn’t feel her distance at all.

Numb, fingers shaking, Rick slid to the ground and stumbled towards the alley.  He could barely breathe.  Shock and fear— _we’re_ broken—rang in his ears. 

And then she came bounding back to his side, her eyes alight, teeth bared in a rumbling grin.  “Did you see that?” she panted. 

Rick couldn’t say anything.  All he could do was run and pretend that he hadn’t seen his daemon leave his side.  _We’re normal,_ he thought.  _We’re okay._

They rounded the corner, Rick’s blood humming with fear and Ellie’s with elation. 

She panted up at him, all traces of the dog she’d been before completely gone.  “I wonder how far we can go.”

\-----

The memory will burn him for years.  His hand on Lori’s shoulder, just a few layers of fabric and eight months of pent-up pain separating them.

He misses her.  He misses her so much.  When Ellie changed from dog to wolf, Lori didn’t even question it.  She accepted it with open arms.  She _loved him anyway,_ despite the change, despite the fact that it meant that somewhere deep down inside, he had changed too. 

Lori didn’t care.

She cared later, of course.  Once she pieced together what Ellie’s new shape actually meant.  Wolf is still _wolf._ He’s a wild thing now.  Dangerous. Full of teeth and broken edges.

Lori pulled away because she didn’t want her son to get cut on them.  He understands.  He really does.  But it _hurts._

But here she is, watching him but not watching him.  Ben makes a soft, angry sound, half a second away from flying to him, he can see it.

Ellie breaks first.  She crosses the distance in one jerky step, pressing her head against Lori’s hip, licking her fingers.  Rick reaches across to his wife.  He doesn’t dare touch her face—he doesn’t know how, anymore.  He doesn’t want to scare her. 

“For the record,” he says quietly, roughly.  “I don’t think you’re a bad mother.”

And then the moment passes and it hurts too bad for him to hold his arm up.  _Ellie, c’mon.  We’ve got work to do._

His daemon resists, but she goes.  She understands the depths of his hurt. 

Rick leaves Lori, but he’s smiling, a little.  He’s tired and aching in all the worst places but maybe, just maybe—

“Tomorrow,” he says quietly, “I think I’m going to bring her some flowers.”

\-----

When the fucking cop— _Rick Grimes,_ he’d said, like that was supposed to _mean_ somethin’—said that he’d left Merle, Shay had damn near shifted.

For the first time in twenty years, she had nearly changed her shape. 

“I dunno into what,” she whispered later, feathers fluffed out twice her size.  “I can’t tell.  I just wanted to _do_ something.”

Daryl, still furious, still wild and wounded and _scared_ for his brother (the only one on this damn planet who loved him, besides Shay) hadn’t said much.  “A fuckin’ wolf,” he said.  “Rip his wolf’s pretty face off.”

Shay liked that idea.

Later, Grimes tried to apologize.  “We’ll find him,” he said encouragingly.  His wolf waged her tail.  (What was she, some kinda fucking dog?) “You’ll see.”

Daryl bared his teeth and Shaylyn hissed.  She was small but she’d still put his eyes out.  “So you say,” he growled.  “Don’t think this is gonna make it up to me, _Grimes._ Don’t you dare.”

“I just wanted—”

“ _Don’t._   We’re not gonna be friends or nothin’ because you realized you made a fuckin’ mistake,” Daryl spat. “We’re _never_ gonna be friends.  You ain’t my blood.  You ain’t my family.  Get that through your damn head.”

Grimes fell silent, wounded. 

Shay hissed.  _Good._

\-----

It is a mistake to assume that his Lilith changed after the end of the world.

People assume it, of course.  It’s easier to believe that a man became a wolf only to protect himself and his people. 

“But I’m not a wolf,” Lilith laughs, teeth sharp, watching Woodbury turn below them.

“They don’t know that.”  He indulges her, like he’s always done.  Her coarse fur scratches at his palms.  “They don’t know what you are.”

(At first, he hadn’t either—he had assumed fox, and Lily had let him.  She had played her part well, tame daemon of a tame man, completely harmless, normal, _sane_ —)

“That should tell you something Freudian,” she says dryly, stretching languidly, those sharp teeth bared in a yawn.  He remembers them fastened around his arm, Lilith screaming Penny’s name, his blood in her jaws—

“Stop,” Lilith snarls, biting at him, but he’s learned by now to keep his hands out of her reach.  “Penny’s fine.  Penny’s fine.”

The Governor looks out over his— _his,_ all his, this thing he built with nothing but his blood and his sweat and his cunning—and smiles.  “Penny’s fine,” he assures her.  “Everything is just fine.”

\-----

[Isaac](http://jp10.r0tt.com/l_735e4ad0-35df-11e2-8b76-bb6198700010.jpg) was never afraid of Lee.  Even before Lee was a lion he was an eagle—he could’ve swallowed Isaac in one bite. 

But Isaac had never been scared.

Andrea remembered the first time she saw Amy after Isaac settled.  She remembered thinking, _Oh, Lee, don’t hurt him, he’s so little.  Don’t hurt him._

She and Lee had been terrified.  Lee’s size was good in a courtroom.  Not so much in their dad’s tiny house, wings folded awkwardly as Amy let out a howl and came barreling down the hallway. 

You would think that a dove would be afraid of an eagle.  But Isaac wasn’t—he hurled straight off Amy’s shoulder and started flittering around Lee’s head, laughing as he dove in-between Lee’s wings. 

“Be careful,” Andrea had said nervously.  She didn’t want to see Isaac get hurt.  Lee could tear through him in a second. 

Amy had smiled, understanding.  “It’s okay,” she said.  “Isaac’s fine.  He knows that Lee won’t hurt him.” 

Andrea smiled back, touched, but inside she had been thinking, _God, I hope not._

\-----

There’s something about Woodbury.  Not something _bad_ —not like Meesch said there was, not like she feared—but just.  Something.

Lee doesn’t mind it.  He likes the way people looked at him.  He’s unusual in this day and age—most people’s daemons are shifting into smaller things, winged things, things that could escape a walker’s hungry hands.  Lee is enormous.  

He likes their respectful stares, the Governor’s lingering eyes. 

Andrea likes them too.  It’s nice to feel desired again.  To feel like she can— _belong_ again.  She lost one group ( _pride,_ Lee rumbles) already.  Here’s a chance to have another.

She wants friends.  Meesch is great.  She loves Michonne.  (You can’t spend eight months with someone and then not expect to love them at the end.)  But these people remind her of so much more, of what life used to be.

She wants that.  Lee wants that.

The Governor takes her by the elbow, his strange, long-legged daemon brushing companionably up against Lee.  (She’s nearly as tall at the shoulder as he is.  It’s nice to be around a daemon that Lee can’t break with one swipe of his paws.

 _I could try,_ he rumbles, amused, but he doesn’t mean it.)

“How do you like our little town?”  he says.  He reminds her of Rick, a little, with his easy friendliness and rapt attention.  The wolf-shaped daemon helps too.  Lee nudges her playfully, trying to see if she’ll swat him back.   She, unlike Michonne’s [Merikh](https://www.defenders.org/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/bobcat-stephan-lins-dpc.jpg), does, nipping at his mane. 

Andrea shades her eyes, grinning at her host.  “It’s nice enough,” she says teasingly.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The Governor smiles.  “I can show you around some more, if you’d like.”

Andrea can feel Michonne’s eyes burning the back of her neck from across the street.  Lee pins his ears, ready to turn around and run back to his friend’s side, but the Governor’s daemon bounces up, nipping at his ears, and he growls in delighted surprise. 

 _We’ll be fine, Meesch,_ Andrea thinks.  _You’re just being paranoid._ She lets the Governor hook his arm into hers. 

“Please,” she says.

\-----

“Was she always like that?”  Jenner asked curiously, watching Ellie move around the room, completely separate from Rick.  His owl fluttered her dull wings. 

 Rick watched Ellie, taking another gulp.  He was nearly out of beer.  He should find some more.  “No,” he said thickly.

“A marvelous adaptation,” Jenner murmured.  “Quite amazing, really.  Humans are so adaptable.”

“Is that what it is,” Rick muttered.  Ellie pointedly ignored him. 

Jenner smiled.  “Daemons change to reflect our hearts,” he said, “but more than that, they change to protect us.  It’s a misconception to assume that they are the perfect reflections of our souls.  They’re independent of us.  If she changed, it’s because she had to, to protect you.”

Rick said nothing, finishing off his beer. _She could protect me before._

 _This was never about protecting you,_ Ellie shot back.  _What are wolves famous for?_

_Mass murder and madness?_

_Pack, you idiot._

Rick stopped.  Jenner was watching him.  “Oh,” he said finally.

“Yes,” Ellie growled from across the room. “ _Oh._ ”

Rick stood up unsteadily, watching his daemon.  She watched him right back.  Doubt bristled in her fur.  Fear of rejection hung her tail low, her ears flat.

He sighed and held out his hand, palm up.  An offering, if she still wanted him.   

Jenner smiled blandly.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  His owl barely moved.  “You’re safe here, you’ll see.  It’s only going to get better.”

\-----

Daryl doesn’t know how it all went to shit so fast.  The Specters are everywhere—he watches them rip into T’s Tihana.  Shred her fur like it’s nothing but Dust.  She’s bleeding gold light.  T-Dog is screaming.  Rick and Ellie are howling, ceasing to be two bodies.  They move together.  They fight together.  Mechanically, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“Come on,” Shay cries desperately, diving as close to hungry Specter-hands as she dares.  “Daryl, come on, we have to do _something_ —”

They fight their way to the generator room, blood and dust and loud noises in tight spaces.  Shay doesn’t dare fly ahead—she doesn’t know what they’re getting into. 

Of course it’s a fucking trap.  If Shay had flown ahead they might have seen it, but as it is Daryl has to hold the door, the Specters are heaving against him, and Rick is shouting, Ellie growling fierce and battle-ready—

One gunshot later, the ringing clatters off.  Rick’s okay.  Glenn’s okay. 

But when they get outside, T-Dog isn’t.  They find his blood and Tihana’s Dust in the hall.  His light has gone out.  There’s more Dust, and Carol’s bloody headscarf.

(Shay starts screaming.  She doesn’t stop.)

And then Maggie and Carl come stumbling out.  A baby is crying.  Lori is nowhere to be seen, and Daryl knows.  (Oh, he knows.  He hears Jenner’s last words to Rick—

_One day, you won’t be so grateful._

Today, Daryl thinks, over Rick’s howl and Ellie’s cry and his own soul’s screaming, might be that day.)

\-----

“What are we going to do?” Ben asked quietly, at four in the morning when they finally ( _finally_ ) let her see her husband, still and pale on rough sheets, Ellie curled at his feet. 

Lori swallowed, holding Rick’s hand tighter.  “I don’t know,” she whispered. 

Twelve hours ago she was furious with Rick, she was furious and hurt and just a phone call away from filing for divorce, and Ben’s feathers had been so fluffed he’d been twice his size.

But then, but then—

Ten hours in a hospital waiting room, pacing, not knowing if the man you loved was going to live or die before you could apologize, you could tell him that you loved him, really shook up your perspective.

She couldn’t imagine the world without him.  Without his easy nature, without Ellie’s quiet laugh.  A world where he was bone and she was dust was just—

So Lori swallowed, letting her Ben hop into her free hand so she could hold him close.

“We’re gonna wait,” she said firmly.  “We’re gonna wait, and then we’re all gonna go home as a family.”

\-----

The baby is going to die.  That’s all she can think.  That’s all Ben cares about.  They’re dying—their time has come.  His feathers are glowing golden, unraveling at the seams.  They’re breaking apart.  But the baby—

“The baby has to live,” she gasps, looking Maggie in the eye.  “The baby has to live, do you understand?  I want you to save my baby.” 

“But—”

“Do it,” Ben hisses.  He drops to the hollow of Lori’s throat, settling there for the rest of his life.  His heart beats in time with her own.  “Please.”

Carl cries and she pulls him close, hugging him fiercely.  She loves the smell of his hair.  The warmth of his hands.  (So like his father’s.)  Camarin whines, pawing at her side. 

“My sweet boy,” she whispers.  “The greatest thing I ever did.”

 _Except for this,_ Ben whispers, just as fiercely.  _This baby is going to live._

“My baby boy—”

And then, there’s no time.  (There’s never time.)  Ben is bleeding into dust and she is dying, and Maggie has to act now.  She has to. 

Lori says goodbye to her son.  She squeezes his hand.  Tells him to be good.  He will be.  He’s a good boy.  So like his father.

And then Ben curls into her skin and Maggie cuts in, and it’s pain, it’s a great, terrible pain, but it’s okay.  It’s okay.  It’s okay. 

(Her baby will live.)

Lori’s eyes are heavy and Ben is thick streams of dust and sunlight.  They’re leaving.  It’s time to go.  “Goodnight, love,” Lori whispers, and lets the weight of her last, best act carry her into the sky.

\-----

Lee stopped flying after Amy and Isaac died.  Dale called it a _soul-sickness_. The same thing had happened to his Nurya when his wife died, he said.  She had gone limp and lifeless and her feathers had changed to the color of ash.

Andrea distinctly remembers thinking, in the haze of agony and guilt, that Dale should go fuck himself.  He didn’t know anything.  His wife had died of cancer.  He had gotten to say goodbye.  Maybe he had even held her daemon in his hands, cradling his wife’s soul before it went out like a light. 

There hadn’t been enough left of Isaac to hold.  The ground had been covered in blood and feathers and dust—Amy’s blood, his feathers.  Andrea didn’t know where the dust came from. 

“I’m so sorry,” she tried to say.  She choked on it.  She was trying to hold her baby sister’s blood in her body.  It wasn’t working.  Amy was bleeding out through her fingers. 

Leander had tried to put Isaac back together again, his great talons gentle, but even he couldn’t. 

They were gone in an instant.  Erased and floating up into the sky, and Andrea had _screamed_ —

\-----

Cam settles the second Mom’s Ben turns to dust.  Carl feels it in his bones—one second Cam can change, and the next she can’t.  She looks up at him with sad amber eyes. 

“This is it,” she says. 

Carl looks at her.  He feels numb.  She’s a wolf, just like Dad and Shane.  Her fur is as white as Ellie’s.  (But shot through with black, too.  Black blooms from the center of her face, in ribbons down her sides.  As much as she looks like Ellie, she looks like [Kali](http://jbxtaylorlautner.webs.com/Wolf%20pics/1136193322blackwolf.jpg) too.)

“Oh,” Carl says.  (Oh, oh.)

Mom’s dead.  Mom’s _dead,_ and he can’t stand up.  The weight of it crushes him to the ground.  He’s not strong enough to do this.  He can’t do this.  Mom is gonna come back, she’s gonna come back—

 _No more kid’s stuff._ Dad’s voice is clear in his head.  Cam is firm under his elbow.  _No more kid’s stuff, Carl.  It’s okay._

Carl’s fingers are numb, but they know what to do.  He can hear his new sister crying.  Maggie too. 

He puts a bullet in his mom’s brain, smearing the dust that once was her Benoni.  She’s dead.  She’s dead.

Cam howls in her new voice, deep and surprisingly grown up.

Carl walks away.  _No more kid’s stuff,_ he thinks stiffly.  He can feel it settling in his bones like a thick coating of dust—no matter how much he scrubs and scrubs, he’ll never be the same again.  _They’ll_ never be the same again.

And he and [Camarin](http://howlingforjustice.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/gray-wolf-1.jpg) lead Maggie back into the light. 

\-----

“Hello,” the creepy doctor said, stepping out of the shadows and nearly startling Shay off her place on Daryl’s shoulder. 

Daryl spun around, raising the nearly-empty bottle of Jack and Shay shrieked, spreading her wings and talons.

Jenner was unimpressed.  His own daemon, a dull-winged owl, barely twitched where she was perched on his shoulder.  He was clutching a stack of papers and a red plastic cup.  He didn’t have a weapon. 

He wasn’t a threat. 

Shaylyn let her feathers flatten, returning to her normal size.  She clattered her beak in disgust. 

“The hell d’ _you_ want,” Daryl growled, trying to sidestep the man.

Jenner didn’t move, his daemon canting her head.  “You’re not much liked by the others, are you,” Jenner said, and it wasn’t a question.

Shay hissed at him. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” Jenner said in that same flat tone.  “You’re an outsider, so you’ve got an outsider’s perspective.  Those are great.  Rare, these days.”

“The fuck are you sayin’,” Daryl snapped, trying again to sidestep the doctor.  His control, worn down by alcohol and fear and _you fuckers left my brother, you left him to die, for his daemon to get eaten by those things, you left him_ , threatened to snap. 

Jenner again didn’t move.  “Your daemon,” the doctor said, reaching his hand out like he was just going to brush Shay off Daryl’s shoulder. 

Daryl grabbed his arm hard, fingers tightening around his thin wrist, so hard he could hear the bones creak. 

Neither Jenner nor his fucking owl seemed to feel it. 

 _Get ready to run, Daryl,_ Shay whispered.

(Daryl was always ready to run.)

“What about her,” he said through gritted teeth, adrenaline kicking in, ruining his buzz.

“Did she change?”

“The hell—”

“When the world went to shit,” Jenner said, slightly impatient.  “When the Specters came, did she change?”

“Specters?”  He’d heard that word before, dimly, way back in the tunnel of memories he buried after his mother died. 

“The ones who eat daemons,” the doctor said.  “The dead.”

“Specters,” Shay breathed.   

“Did she change?”

Daryl felt like twisting the doctor’s wrist so he did, bending and bending until Jenner was sideways, all his papers scattered and the owl tilted at a crazy angle.  “Mind your own damn business,” he snarled.

Jenner gasped, his free hand reaching for those papers, grasping mechanically, almost like—

Daryl let him go and the doctor skidded across the tile, scooping up his papers like they were something precious, like food or water or a daemon. 

“What are those?”  Shay asked, before Daryl could stop her.

Jenner smiled like he’s got a secret in his wild eyes.  “You,” he said, and showed them. 

But as far as Daryl could see they’re just really blurry, grainy photos, lit up in the middle with a giant golden smear.  “Don’t look like nothin’,” he snapped, frustrated. 

Jenner smiled that fucking smile again.  “It’s Dust,” he said reverently.  “Learn it.  It’s what’s killing you, after all.”

“The hell do you mean by that,” Daryl snarled, starting forward again, this time meaning to hurt the man until he talked, until he said something that wasn’t a fucking riddle—

“Daryl,” Shay snapped, in a voice he hadn’t heard since he was a boy.  “That’s enough.” She turned to Jenner.  “You should leave,” she said.  It wasn’t a suggestion. 

The doctor smiled, his owl still limp and lifeless and dull.  “Have a good night,” he said, and left Daryl and his daemon alone in the dark.

\-----

Rick hears the baby crying and can’t quite process it.  There’s Maggie and Carl and the baby, but where’s Lori?

“Ellie,” he says slowly.  “Where’s Lori?  Where’s Ben?  Where’s—what’s—?”

Carl blinks up at him, Cam in a new, unfamiliar wolf shape at his side.  (Rick knows, deep down in his bones, that his boy is settled.)

“Where’s Mom?”  he says, unsteadily.  Ellie has already started crying.  She always was the smartest of the two of them.  “Carl, where’s—”

And then he knows.  He knows.  He knows.  (He’s never going to hear Ben sing again.)

“Oh,” he says, his grief rising in his throat like a howl as Ellie gives one desperate, pitched wail and runs, breaking away from him and streaking off on her own, farther and farther away, “oh, _oh_ —”

\-----

“She likes that, huh?”  Lori came to stand beside Rick, Ben perched in her hair.  She tangled her fingers in his, leaning against his shoulder.  He smiled. 

“I guess.”

Ellie was running, bounding across Hershel’s fields like a puppy, leaping and twisting with terrible, fluid ease.

“She’s much more graceful than you,” Lori teased.  “If you tried that, you’d break something.”

“Several somethings, probably,” Rick admitted ruefully.  “My hip, my collarbone, my wrist…”

“Old man,” his wife laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple.  (He had missed this, the weeks before he got shot.  Their casual intimacy, their teasing.  Ben’s lovesong whistling through their house, Ellie’s laughing bark.)

“What’s that make you?” 

“Oh, don’t even get me started, I’ve got more gray hairs on my head than I care to think about,” she said wryly.

He grinned.  “Gray hairs?  Where?”

Lori laughed and swatted him and Ellie finally turned from her run, loping back across the fields.  “Kiss-up,” she said. 

“What can I say?”  he spread his hands appealingly.  “I’m well-trained.  Woof, woof.”

Ben laughed, delighted, and soared out to meet Ellie, settling into her fur.  Rick loved this, these little moments.  His wife at his side and his daemon nearby.  It felt normal. 

 _Like before,_ Ellie said, tenderly.  For once she was calm, her shoulders relaxed and easy.  She felt safe here.  They _were_ safe here.  They could be a family again here.

Rick smiled into Lori’s hair.  “C’mon,” he said.  “I hear cornfields are very romantic to walk through.”  He had his gun and Eliora—they’d be safe.

“Don’t think this is going to end in cornfield sex,” Lori warned.  “I had enough of that when we were in high school.  Chafes something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he swore, eyes wide and earnest.  Ellie laughed.

(It did end in cornfield sex.  Very, very good cornfield sex, and this time _he_ was the one who chafed.  He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain to Hershel why he needed antibiotics for the “rugburn” on his back.  Ellie was no help at all.)

\-----

She watches Merle beat the smaller man with gleeful viciousness, his slope-shouldered daemon dancing in and out of walker’s hands. 

Phillip is roaring gleefully, stamping and clapping his hands.  In fact all of Woodbury is doing the same, going wild over this violence, this death-match in the middle of a ring of walkers—

Andrea tries to leave.  She feels sick.  She feels, she feels—

Phillip grabs her arm, confusion and hurt crossing his face.  “Stay,” he says pleadingly.  “C’mon, it’s—”

“It’s sick,” Andrea snaps.  Lee’s fur is bristling, his huge body crouched low.  “It’s—”

“Staged,” the Governor’s daemon interrupts in her deep, lovely voice.  “It’s all staged.  The biters’ teeth are knocked out.  No one’s gonna get hurt.  It’s just a harmless bit of fun.”

Andrea watches the spectacle.  Merle is beating the smaller man bloody.  His hyena has the smaller dog daemon in her jaws.

Something Andrea can’t name rumbles in her belly.  Lee pins his ears. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, taking a stumbling step backwards.  Then another, and another.  “I just can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Lee lets her scramble onto his back and he runs, paws pounding away from the lights and the cheers and the low, persistent growl of walkers.

They get to an empty part of the town and she rolls off him, crouching in the dirt.  She’s shaking.  He’s shaking.  She’s—He’s—

Leander throws back his head and _roars_ , the force of it rippling across the ground.  The stones tremble.   His claws sink into the ground, each one sharp enough to kill a man.

She wants to—

She wants to kill something.  She’s so _angry_ —Amy’s death, her abandonment, Meesch just turning around and _leaving,_ forsaking the tentative sense of family for a life back out there, all roll together into a ball of lead.  It sits heavy in her stomach and she wants—

She wants to let it out.

Lee wants to let it out.  He’s a killer daemon, after all—lions aren’t cats.  Lions aren’t _tame._ Lions have claws and fangs and paws that can crush a man’s skull.  Lions have coiled strength and devastating power.  Lions can _destroy._

And oh (oh, oh) how she wants to dig her claws in and destroy. 

\-----

New guy came barreling around the corner with his gun right in Glenn’s face, wolf daemon snapping and snarling at the geeks that were pushing in.

“Woah, not dead!”  Meiri shrieked, diving back into Glenn’s backpack, and after that it was kind of a blur of running and screaming and the fucking wolf daemon—seriously, _wolf daemon,_ Glenn really, really hoped Clint Eastwood over here wasn’t a serial killer—casually ignoring the taboo and hauling Glenn up by the straps of his backpack.  By the time they were safe(ish) from the geeks, Clint Eastwood was bent double, panting, and looked at the pack of hungry walkers like he’d never seen one before.

“Dumbass,” Glenn wheezed. 

Eastwood turned to him—shit, shit, don’t piss off guys with wolf daemons, _what the fuck is wrong with you Glenn_ —and tilted his head.  “Uh,” he said, not sounding remotely like he was going to gut Glenn like a fish, “thanks?”

Meiri, apparently deciding to brave the outside world once again, nosed her way out of the pack and stared at Eastwood and his fucking wolf, chittering angrily.  “The pair of you are really, really unintelligent, aren’t you.”

Glenn spluttered, alarmed— _what the fuck Mei he might not have wanted to kill us_ —and Eastwood spluttered— _what the fuck Mei you can’t just go breaking taboos like that_ —but the wolf shook out her fur and rolled her bright, bright eyes. 

“Men,” she muttered, and her voice was rich and lovely.  She didn’t sound like a crazy, otter-eating daemon at all.  “It’s nice to meet you.  Thanks for saving us.”

If Meiri still had wings, she would’ve been bowing.  As it was, she otter-grinned from Glenn’s shoulder.  “Dumbass,” she said again, cheerfully. 

Glenn and Eastwood locked confused eyes. Glenn pushed down on the urge to groan.  _This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,_ Meiri hummed.

 _Fuck you,_ Glenn said, and she laughed. 

\-----

“Rick,” Glenn says quietly, approaching the other man.  The hallway is dark and full of blood.  Rick’s face is dark and drenched in it. 

Ellie is nowhere to be seen.

Mei instinctively hunches closer to Glenn’s neck.  (“We’re not afraid of him,” she whispers, more to convince herself than anything.  “We’re not—we’re not afraid of him, Glenn.”)

“Rick,” Glenn says slowly, approaching his friend with his hands out, palms up.  (Daryl should be doing this.  Daryl is so much better at speaking Rick than the rest of them.  Well, better than anyone but Lori, but she’s dead.  She can’t bring Rick back to them now.  Not ever again.)

“Rick, where’s Ellie?”

Rick doesn’t answer.  He sways, rocking back on his heels a little. He has a death grip on that axe.  His teeth are bared.  His eyes are flat and empty.

“Rick, it’s just us,” Meiri says soothingly.  “Glenn and Mei, remember?  Dumbass?  You wanna come out with us?  Everyone’s really worried about you, you know.”

Rick doesn’t move.  Meiri’s fur stands on end.  He’s so still.  He’s usually not this still.  If Glenn was Daryl maybe he could understand.  Maybe he could piece it together, figure out what Rick’s saying.  But he isn’t so he can’t.  He’s just Glenn.  He just wants to help.

Tentatively, Meiri reaches out with her nose.  “Rick,” she says.  Glenn touches his friend’s elbow.

Big mistake. 

Rick grabs him with a walker’s terrible, inexorable strength, twisting him and hurling him against the wall.  Meiri cries out, scrambling for purchase.  The impact knocks dust loose from the ceiling. 

Rick’s eyes aren’t his eyes.  For a second Glenn sees Eliora in them, sees Shane and Kali and bared teeth.  He wishes for the thousandth time that Mei still had her wings so that she could fly away.  So that she could escape.

Rick’s going to kill them.  Glenn can see it, a wolf’s wild grin in his eyes ( _wolves are the daemons of serial killers and mass murders,_ his mother said.  _Wolves are the daemons of brokenness, of a separation from heaven._ )

And then, Rick lets them go. 

Meiri whimpers, speechless for once.  Ellie has always been her friend.  Rick has been like a brother to them.  Why would he—why would he want to _hurt_ them, after all this time?

“Glenn,” she says, once she gets her breath back.  They’re still pressed against the wall, covered in walker blood and dust.  “Glenn, we can’t tell anyone.”

\-----

Before her mother died Penny always asked him, “Is Lily a fox or a wolf?” and his answer was always different.  ”Oh, she’s a fox,” he’d say, on days he felt like a fox, or “she’s a wolf today” whenever he felt restless and hungry, unsatisfied like there was something alive clawing its way out of his throat.  

“Both,” he said one day, after Penny’s mother had died and she lay curled in his arms, tiny and fragile and scared, his little girl was scared and he didn’t know what to do—

“Mommy said that daemons can’t be both,” Penny hiccupped.  Her own Lazarus was curled under her throat, and [Lilith](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/4b/Maned_Wolf_11,_Beardsley_Zoo,_2009-11-06.jpg/230px-Maned_Wolf_11,_Beardsley_Zoo,_2009-11-06.jpg) hasn’t stopped snarling since M—since _she_  died.  ”She said that means something’s wrong inside.”

“Nothing’s wrong, baby,” he said, rocking her gently.  ”Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s wrong, nothing’s wrong…”

\-----

The others tried to get Lee to fly.  It bothered them, she thought, to see her great daemon perched on her shoulder with his wings hanging slack, feathers growing duller and duller with each day he didn’t use them.

“They should mind their own business,” Lee hissed, after Nurya tried to get him to fly around the farmhouse with her.  “We’re not their problem.”

“They just want to help, Lee,” she said diplomatically.  (Out of the two of them, she had always been the more rational one.  He had always been wild.)  “That’s what family does.”

“They _aren’t_ our family.”

That was where they disagreed.  Eagles were solitary creatures and Lee had lost the one other soul he considered _flock._ He wasn’t about to just accept a bunch of strangers under his wings again.  Not after Isaac’s death.

Andrea couldn’t blame him.  A part of her didn’t want to be anyone’s family ever again either. Amy had been her _sister_.  Andrea was twelve when Amy was born.  She had held the girl in her arms.  No one could ever replace that.

But these people cared about her.  They loved her.  They wanted to see her Leander fly again.  She couldn’t blame them.  Hell, _she_ wanted to see Lee fly again.

(But he couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.  Anger and grief made his feathers too heavy to lift.)

“Never,” he hissed, beak clattering.  “Never again.”

\-----

“When did he change?”  he asks her, late at night when the oil lamps have burned low and there’s no sound in the town but the occasional pop from a rifle on the wall.

“What do you mean?”  Andrea smiles at him, drowsy, warm, _safe_ for the first time in a very long time.  [Lee](http://www.metahistory.org/images/WhiteLion3.jpg), with his head on the crook of her knees, rumbles a purr. 

The Governor laughs, pulling her closer.  “Your daemon,” he says.  “When did he change?”

“When did he settle, you mean?” 

He shakes his head.  His own daemon, whose name Andrea has yet to learn (She thinks that Lee knows, but he’s not telling), stretches languidly, her long legs tangling with Lee’s.  “When did he change?”

“I don’t understand.”

Phillip smiles, that secret light in his eyes.  “Sure you don’t,” he says with a sigh, tucking her head under his chin.  He’s a solid, warm weight across her front, every line of him molded to every line of her, and Lee tucks himself against her back.  Between them, she is safe, she feels so safe.

“You can tell us when you’re ready,” his daemon says, and her long face is kind, Andrea thinks, kind enough that Lee leans across their tangled legs to lick her nose. 

“Lee was never anything else,” she says.  “He settled like this.”

The Governor’s daemon laughs.  “Fair enough,” she hums, in a voice like the leaves in the north, something strange and gentle that Andrea hasn’t heard before. (She and Amy never made it farther north than Atlanta, and a southern fall isn’t as magnificent as a northern one.)  “Fair enough,” and Andrea can tell that they don’t believe her.

\-----

Rick’s daughter is gonna be a looker.  Daryl holds her in her arms like she’s made of glass, and he’s never seen Shay so tender, stroking the baby daemon’s soft downy feathers. 

She gurgles at him, blinking at him with blue baby eyes.  (She looks a bit like Shane and a lot like her momma.  Rick’s gonna love her, when he comes back.)

“Hey, little ass-kicker,” Daryl croons.  The baby blinks.  Burps.  Settles into the crook of his arms like it’s the safest place in the word.  (He’s already fiercely protective of this tiny thing.  He knows already that he—that anyone in this room, really—would die in a heartbeat to keep her alive.

“You big softie,” Shay laughs.

“It’s true,” mutters Daryl.)

Everyone’s looking at him funny, something unreadable in their eyes.  It’s bright and good.  It reminds him of that smear of light on Jenner’s pictures, so bright that everything else is dimmed in comparison. 

“What?”  he says defensively.  “Family like ours, of course she’s gonna grow up to be an ass-kicker!”

Everyone laughs, startled out of their grief.  Babies are good like that.  Shay arranges the sleeping baby bird against her own breast, safe under the shelter of her feathers. 

“Gonna beat this world,” Daryl murmurs.  “Yeah, kiddo?”  The baby girl blinks sleepily.  “You’re gonna beat this world.”

\-----

“You, uh, settled when you were twelve, right?”  Carl fiddled with his sleeves, pulling them over his fingers.  Cam, in her favorite collie shape, leaned into his legs.  She hadn’t stopped shaking since Mom and Dad stopped fighting. 

His dad took a second to turn around. Carl could see him pull his face closed, like he always did after he and Mom fought.   Ellie licked Cam tenderly, but her face was just as closed off.   Ben was the same way, stiff and quiet on Mom’s shoulder, his beak clattering with anger.

Carl really wanted them to stop fighting.  Maybe it showed on his face because his dad sighed, crouching down so he could look Carl in the eye.  Cam flooded into a weasel’s shape, curling into Carl’s palm. 

“You heard, huh?”

 _Hard not to._ Carl shrugged, looking away. 

“We don’t mean it, you know,” his dad said gently.

“’s okay,”Carl mumbled. “I know—I know that you love me and Mom, and that Mom still loves you too, it’s just—”

His dad looked away. 

Carl bit his lip.  “Yeah,” he says.  “That’s, um, not what I wanted to talk about?”

His father’s face cleared a little. “Yeah?  What did you want to talk about?”  He sat down on the porch, inviting Carl to sit with him.  Cam sighed, relieved, and flopped down next to Ellie, collie again, her smaller body fitting beside the white shepherd’s neatly. 

“You settled really early, right?  When you were like twelve?”

His dad noded, scrubbing a hand through his hair.  “Yeah, Ellie settled early.  Hadn’t even finished the fifth grade yet.”

Ellie snorted quietly. 

“Do you think—d’you think that me and Cam will settle that early?”  Carl knew it wasn’t what he should be talking about right now, not with his parents falling apart. But he didn’t know what else to say and besides, the sooner Cam settled the sooner he’d be a man, and that meant he could do more around the house, that meant he could help, that meant he could do whatever his parents needed him to do, to keep them together. 

“Carl,” his dad said, arm around his shoulder, pulling him close.  “Why?  Just last week you said you didn’t want her to ever settle.”

 _Don’t tell him,_ Cam whispered.  _We can’t tell him, he’ll think it’s his fault._

“Sarah Greer said that it runs in families, is all,” he lied.  Cam rested her head on his knee, wiggling closer.  “Her grandma’s daemon settled when she was fourteen and her mom’s did too.”

Carl’s dad laughed a little, relieved.  Not blaming himself.  “My dad’s daemon didn’t settle until he was sixteen,” he said.  “Cam’ll settle when you’re ready, Carl.  Don’t be in a hurry.  It’ll happen when it happens.”

Carl bit his lip.  They needed it to happen _soon,_ so that he could help, so that he wasn’t a burden, so that he could help his family—

Cam nipped his fingers.  _That’s enough_. 

“Okay,” he said, hitching his bookbag up.

His dad smiled, ruffling his hair, and Ellie gave Cam a lick that made all her spotted fur stand on end.  “Be good,” he said.  “Don’t worry about settling.  I’ll see you for dinner, okay?”

Carl noded, letting Cam climb into his shirt as a tiny moth.  “See you,” he said, trudging back inside where Mom pulled him into a rough hug and Ben circled his head, anxious and apologetic. 

(At school, he didn’t talk about settling.  He and Cam decided that they were going to try, hard, right after school, so they could show Dad later.  But there wasn’t time.  There was never time.)   

\-----

“What d’you think of the new guy?”  Meiri said quietly, draped around Glenn’s neck.  They were so drunk he was pretty sure if he moved, he’d fall on his face.  

“Jenner?”  Glenn said.

“Not Jenner,” Mei hummed, curling close, closer than she could have ever gotten in her first shape.  “He’s—hic—a little weird.  Rick, Glenn.  I’m talking about Rick.”

“Rick’s not the new guy,” Glenn said, a little stupidly.

Meiri nipped his ear. “We met him three days ago, dumbass.”

“Really?”  Glenn frowned, trying to think about it, but that hurt so he stopped, just laying back in a bed (bed! With sheets!) with Meiri so close he could feel her heartbeat. 

“Yes, really,” Mei said drowsily.  “So what d’you think?  Good guy?”

Glenn thought about it, one hand in her fur.  He missed the feel of feathers.  “He’s got a wolf daemon,” he said finally.  “A really, really big one.”

Meiri snorted.  “So?” 

“That’s not a good thing, right?  People with wolf daemons are, are crazy, like there’s something wrong with them.  Why else would they need a predator daemon in 2010?”

“Community college was not a good place for you,” Meiri informed him.   “You are being close-minded and you should feel bad.”

“You’re drunk,” Glenn said.

“Yes,” giggled Mei, “and so—hic—are you.”

If she had a point, Glenn couldn’t see it.  (He was never drinking again, he’d pretty much decided, it didn’t matter how ridiculously good he felt for the first time in months.)

“Dumbass,” Meiri said, fondly.  “What if his daemon wasn’t always a wolf?  What if she changed like I did?”

“Why would she do that?” Glenn slurred, vision darkening, streaks of golden dust blurring the edges of his sight.  “Why would she—why would she do that?”

Meiri sighed, dropping her head to the space where his chin met his neck.  “Everything happens for a reason,” she said gently.  “Everything.”

\-----

His head is full of dust and ghosts.  They dance around him, their hands shining gold, their faces the faces he remembers, the faces he loves.

Jim.  Dale.  Amy.  Jaqcui.  Shane.

Pack.                         

They are all around him, whispering things.  Tugging at his clothes, his hands, his hair. 

 _Come with us,_ they whisper.  Their eyes are full of knowledge.  _Come with us.  It’s safe.  It’s heaven.  It’s okay._

Rick wants to.  He wants to go so bad.  To just go to sleep and never wake up again.  He’s so _tired,_ and his bones are heavy with dust.

But he sees Lori too, standing in front of him, and she lays a tender hand above his heart and says, _stay.  You can’t follow me, love.  Not this time._

He can’t.  He can’t.  He can’t—

And then Shane is Kali going for his throat with her teeth, and Rick flinches, but Lori turns into Ben, wings resplendent with Dust and she protects him.  She holds him together for just a little while longer.

“Please,” he says brokenly.  “I couldn’t—I can’t—Please don’t make me.”

Ben turns his kind eyes to Rick, brushing his cheek.  “You have to,” he says in Lori’s voice.  “You have to, love.  You have a son.  You have a daughter.  You have people who need you.”

“I don’t—”

But it’s too late.  He can’t put it back together.  Lori and Ben are dust and blood already.  They’re gone.  And he’s—

“Oh, dear one,” Ellie says.  She’s standing in front of him again, smeared with blood and dirt.  “Oh, oh.” She rears up, placing a paw on each shoulder.  Rick wishes he could be her, for just a minute.  Just strip down his human skin and rearrange himself like her. 

“Ellie,” he whispers, bent double.  “Ellie, I don’t know what to do.”

“What we always do,” she says heavily.  “We fight.”

\-----

He was gonna find that girl.  Shay got it in her head and it bled over to his.  They were gonna find Sophia.   

They could—he was a hunter and Shay could get up high, searching the woods from above.  They could find her.  They _would_ find her. 

“C’mon,” Shay said impatiently.  She had a few loose feathers, just hanging onto her skin by the tips.  When she took off she’d lose them, scatter them into the wind. 

Maybe Sophia would find them and follow them home. 

“Don’t rush me,” he grumbled, but scooped her up, swinging onto the horse.  (He hoped that Sophia hadn’t run into any Specters.  Girl didn’t deserve that.  He hoped that she was safe.) 

That was the day he fell into the creek, an arrow in his side.   Shay had dropped with him, screaming his name, and he remembered thinking, as darkness closed in, _birds can’t swim._

 _They drown._  

\-----

Sex with Phillip is different.  She’s had plenty of sex before—she was even going to get married, once—but she’s never had sex like this.

It isn’t love.   Love would imply something _more_ than what they have.  Love implies mutual trust and affection and adoration.

She doesn’t adore Phillip.  Sure, he’s nice to look at.  Sure, he’s a nice guy.  But there’s something—weird about him.

“It’s his daemon,” Lee murmurs, one night after Phillip has fallen asleep, spent.  “She doesn’t feel right.”

Andrea can’t tell—she isn’t a daemonologist, she’s always left that to other people—but it bothers Lee.  Lee likes her well enough, of course.  He likes to wrestle with her and nip at her maned neck.  He likes to curl around her warmth after Andrea and Phillip fuck, sometimes soft and slow like new lovers and sometimes hard and fast like wolves in the dark. 

But she can tell that Lee gets unsettled, sometimes. 

The Governor’s daemon is quiet.  She speaks directly to Andrea.  She stares out the window sometimes, oblivious to her human.  She and Phillip seem _disconnected,_ somehow.  Like they’re two separate entities instead of one soul split across two bodies.

It isn’t _natural._

“It’s fine, Lee,” Andrea says gently, tangling her fingers in his mane.  She could never do this before—she was afraid of ripping out his feathers.  “They’ve been through a lot.”  (He still keeps the picture of his dead wife and child on his dresser.) 

“Yeah,” Lee grumbles, resting his great head on her stomach.  He soothes some of the angry red lines from her side.  (Tonight had been a wolf-night, when they came together and pulled apart and crashed together again like a war.  Like they were exorcising their demons in each other.  Andrea’s demon was anger—she’s so _angry_.  She doesn’t know what Phillip’s demon is, but he’d done his best to fuck it out of her.)

She pets his head absently. It calms them both.  “It’s alright,” she murmurs.  “You’ll see.”

Lee snorts.  She can tell he doesn’t believe it.

\-----

It blew up in their faces in a matter of seconds.  Rick hadn’t intended to start a fight.  All he’d wanted to do was stop Shane from shooting the kid.  No one deserved to die without a trial.  No one. 

But then he grabbed Shane and Ellie met Kali’s eyes. And Rick stupidly remembered those nature documentaries he’d watched when he was a kid, trying to figure out what Ellie would settle as. 

_Eye contact is a dominance marker in wolf hierarchies.  The alpha will not break contact.  Prolonged eye contact challenges the alpha’s rule._

Ellie and Kali couldn’t stop themselves. 

For a second, Rick and Shane just watched their daemons fight, mouths hanging open.  They didn’t feel any pain as Ellie tore a gash on Kali’s back or as Kali closed her teeth around Ellie’s leg.  They just watched. 

Shane threw the first punch.  Rick rolled with it, years of training taking over.  He knew how to fight.  He knew Shane.   He knew the howl that was rising in his own blood, echoing the violence in Ellie’s. 

Rick snarled, stepping forward.  He felt _wild._

Shane’s eyes were burning, all his teeth on display.  Blood dripped down his face.  He wouldn’t look away.  (His defiance make Rick _furious._ He was always doing this—challenging, pushing, testing, Kali snapping at Ellie’s heels.) 

“Well c’mon then,” Shane roared.   “C’mon, big man, c’mon, hit me, fight me, c’mon, you fuckin’ _pussy_ —”

Rick shook out his knuckles and went in for the throat.

\-----

“Oh,” Ben said, and for the first time in a long time he left Lori’s side, streaking across the dusty campground, “oh, oh, _oh_ —”

And then Lori had her husband in her arms again, and he has Carl and Cam is dancing around Ellie,Ben flittering around singing and singing. Lori’s got her arms around his neck, forehead against his, Carl between them, and she has them, she has them, she has them. 

“Oh,” Ellie sang back, wolf through and through now, Lori could see her make the final change then and there, abandoning the shepherd dog of _before_ for her new, lean, hunter’s body.  She, wrapped up in her family again, couldn’t bring herself to worry about it. 

“I’ve found you,” Rick mumbled into his wife’s hair.  The only thing she could feel is relief, and Ben’s joy like dust coating her insides.  “I’ve found you, I’ve found you—”  

Lori wasn’t ever letting him go again.

\-----

When he holds his baby girl for the first time, his heart starts beating evenly again.  She looks like her mother.  Tiny and perfect and content in his arms. 

She isn’t afraid of him.  He’s a wolf and she doesn’t care.  This baby doesn’t care what he is, what he’s done, that he failed her mom.  She just loves that he’s holding her, cradling her against his heart.

Ellie laughs.  She sings. Her howl echoes off the prison walls and bounces back in startled celebration.  She loves this girl as much as he does just as fast.  Their hearts are inextricably tied to this tiny human being in a matter of short, almost fearful breaths.

“She’s beautiful,” Ellie whispers, awed.

“She’s perfect,” Rick whispers back, just as awed.  His daughter’s daemon, just as tiny and delicate and perfect as she is, changes in the quick nature of children’s daemons, flowing from field mouse to tiny, wriggling wolf cub.

Rick smiles so hard he thinks his face might crack.

Hershel smiles kindly, his Ashling ruffling her wings.  “Look,” he says.  “She takes after you.” 

\-----

(In years to come there is a girl and her daemon is a lion, and no one knows where they came from or who they are, but they call the dead _walkers_ and wield a crossbow as easily as a machete, a fang as easily as a paw.  They are beautiful and mysterious and strong and unafraid. 

“Why don’t you make him change?” they ask her.  They call her Lion-girl, Wildness, Judy if they know her well enough.  His name to them is Simba, is Aslan, is Dumbledore, names of famous lions vaguely remembered but made meaningless by time.  “It’s not safe, he’s too big.”

She gives them a sly, curving grin.  “What would you like him to be?” she asks. 

A bird, they tell her.  A fox. A cat.  Even a wolf would do.  But not a lion, never a lion. 

She smiles.  “Why?”  she says, her hands in her lion’s mane.  She’s not much of a girl—she has her biological father’s deep brown eyes and her mother’s delicate build, and usually that’s all that anyone sees.  It would be easier for her if her daemon was small, something easily hidden in a pocket or sent safe into the sky.

“It’s safer for you,” they tell her.  Their daemons are all small, nothing bigger than a housecat between them.  She thinks they might be jealous of her [Ari](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzx34azboU1qj4fp2o1_500.jpg), of his strength and broad paws.  “A daemon that size is just a bigger target.”

Judy, whose uncle was an otter’s soul, whose aunt was a bobcat’s, whose cousins were hawks and weasels and that hadn’t made a bit of difference, only smiled wider, if a little sadly.  “Better fighters, though,” she says.  Judy, whose dad’s soul was a white wolf’s, whose mom’s was a great lion, decides to let them in on a little secret.   

“In the end,” Ari rumbles, “it doesn’t matter how fast you are, or how good at hiding, or how quickly you can get out of a walker’s reach.”

The other children laugh, disbelieving.  Clearly this Wildness is wrong—she’s been alone for too long, walking in the woods with no company but her ferocious soul. 

Judy knows what they’re thinking.  She knows and she also knows that soon, when the dead return—as they always do, the Specters are never gone, not really—that they’ll learn what she means. 

It was something her dad told her, once, a very long time ago.  _It doesn’t matter how fast you are,_ he’d said.  Ari had been crying.  Ellie had licked his face, tenderly, even though he’d outgrown her years ago.  “What matters,” he had said, holding her face gently, like he’d done for years and years since she was a tiny baby with a lion cub daemon, “is the size of your heart.”)

\-----

“I don’t like this,” Luke mutters, staring around the depths of the abandoned grocery store.  “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Relax,” Mei sings.  (She’s still recovering from their scare earlier. This overconfidence helps her cope.)  “There’s no walkers.  Let’s just get what we need and go.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, winding her fingers through Glenn’s.  Glenn can’t help but smile.  It will be okay again. 

They get the baby food without any problems, with Meiri bouncing around Luke’s head and trying to get him to play tag. 

Outside, the sun is bright and strong.  Still no walkers.  Maybe today will be a good day.

As soon as he thinks it Glenn thinks, _stupid, stupid,_ because there’s a shout and Luke yowls and there’s a fucking _hyena_ snapping at Meiri. 

Glenn and Maggie spin around together, their guns even and steady.  The hyena lets out a great, cackling laugh.  Glenn’s blood freezes and even Meiri falls still.

“Chinaman?”  says Merle Dixon.  “Hey, you seen my brother?”

\-----

Shane understood.  Shane and Kali understood what it was like, living inside a body that didn’t fit.  That was Lee’s problem—what he had become after Amy’s death hadn’t fit with his body.

Kali was the same way.  She hadn’t always been a wolf—she’d been a dog, once.  A German shepherd, black as night. 

Shane didn’t tell her when Kali changed.  Andrea privately didn’t care all that much.  What she and Shane were didn’t need that, all the messy personal details, all the traumas and angers and pains and jealousies. 

Kali was a wolf trapped in a body too small for her.  Lee was a broken bird stuck with wings that he didn’t even want.  That was it.  That was all that mattered.

Andrea didn’t love Shane.  She respected him immensely and liked him well enough.  He meant well.  He wanted to look after Lori and Carl.  That was respectable enough.  And he was good in the sack.  Car seat.  Whatever.   

She didn’t need to love Shane.  He was temporary relief.  He was someone who _understood._ Not family—Lee still wouldn’t allow that—but a comrade.  A fellow soldier.  Different. 

 So when he came to her at night, Kali prowling at his heels, straining at the seams of her fur, she opened her arms and slipped a hand down his pants. 

“What d’you think our problem is,” he panted, finally spent and sated.  (For now.)

She shrugged carelessly.  Lee clattered his beak.  “Does it matter?”

Kali’s eyes flashed in the dark, and for a second she heard from Lee, _direwolf,_ and saw Kali as she should be, huge and black and completely suited to a world like this. 

Shane thought about that for a second.  “No,” he said quietly, and Kali’s eyes dimmed. 

 _Direwolf,_ Andrea thought at Lee sleepily.  _What should you be, then?_

\-----

Mei didn’t quite know what to think of Maggie.  Part of her was deeply amused—she liked the wild cat daemon’s nature—and part of her was annoyed. 

“She should just make up her mind,” Mei muttered, curled around Glenn’s neck.  They were usually warm and drowsy like this, but the last few nights had been… rough. 

(Freaking girls.)

“Either she likes us or she doesn’t,” Glenn agreed.  “Blue balls aren’t cool.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Eh,” Glenn shrugged, nearly dislodging her.  “You love me.”

“We’ll see,” Mei said loftily, scrambling off his shoulder and bounding around the house.  “C’mon, dumbass!  Put your money where your mouth is!”

“Meiri, wait!”  But it was no use.  She was already gone, scrambling away, weaving around obstacles like she was made of water.

Glenn huffed impatiently, chasing after her.  (He wasn’t Rick, after all. His daemon could only go so far from him without causing some pain.)

“Meiri, you’re gonna wake everyone up—” he skidded around the corner and nearly crashed into Maggie.

She arched her eyebrow, disapproving.   Mei circled Glenn’s feet, trying to play tag with Maggie’s massive cat.  Luke twitched his ears.  Glenn couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed.

( _Stop overthinking it,_ Mei said sternly.  _She wants to bone you._ )

Glenn blinked.  Considered that.  Smiled widely.  “Uh,” he said intelligently, and Meiri flopped to the ground in despair.        

Maggie laughed at him and Glenn found that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her smile, of the lines of her neck and the flash of her teeth, bright in the dark.  (When he managed to look down, Meiri and the big cat were tangled up in each other, spotted gold and dark.  He was purring.  She was giggling.)

Maggie held out her hand.  Definitely more amused than annoyed.  “Walk with me,” she said.   

(“If you say no,” Meiri hissed, “I’ll turn into an elephant just to make your life difficult.”)

\-----

“Why won’t Cam settle?”  Carl said, a little desperately.  Ellie clamped down on a pained whine.  Carl looked so _young._ He was.  He was only twelve.

“Hey,” Rick said, pulling his son in close.  He tried to say, _I’ll protect you_ with every line of his body.  “Don’t worry about it, huh?  You’re only twelve.  She’ll settle when you two are ready.”

Cam, in her favorite collie shape, sighed.  Carl bit his lip.  “But I could help more if she settled!”

Rick smiled.  “You already help,” he said.  “You just worry about being you, okay?  You can’t force a settling.  Lord knows I tried, right, Ellie?”

“Every day from ages eight to ten,” Ellie muttered, rolling her eyes.  “Wanted me to be a big ol’ white horse so he could ride me around playing cowboy.”

Carl couldn’t help but smile.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.”  Rick hugged his son tightly.  “And if I’d made her settle then, she wouldn’tve made it out of Atlanta.  We would’ve gotten eaten.  So it’s a good thing I waited, see?”

Carl shrugged.  “I guess.”

“You guess,” Rick said lightly, ruffling his boy’s hair.  “You guess, you guess.  What, you think you know better than me?  Huh, punk?”  He lunged playfully, tackling his son.  Ellie jumped up to chase Cam around the hayloft, scattering hay and kicking up clouds of golden, shimmering dust.

“Huh, you little punk?”  Rick tickled Carl mercilessly, the sound of his child’s laughter chasing away just a bit of his fear.  “You wanna go?  You wanna go?” 

(“Today was a good day,” Ellie said drowsily later, her head on his stomach.  Carl was sleeping not too far away and Lori was molded to his side, Ben perched just above his head. 

“Yeah,” Rick murmured, eyes sliding closed.  “It was, wasn’t it?”)

\-----

“Are you scared?”                                                                                                                                                 

Carl looks up at his dad, barely able to see him from the shadow of his hat.  Cam presses into his legs, still unsure of where to put her new, bulkier weight.  “No,” Carl says honestly. 

Dad frowns, crouching down until he’s at Carl’s level, his eyes kind and sad and serious.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for what you had to do.”

He’s talking about Mom and how Carl had held Ben in his hand as they died, and Cam nips his fingers, comfort and warning. 

Carl swallows.  _Don’t go,_ he wants to say.  _I don’t know what I’ll do if you go._

But he can’t say that, because Cam is settled now—finally, finally settled—and she’s huge and strong and fierce.  He can do this.  He has to do this.  He’s not a little kid anymore. 

“No more kid stuff,” Cam whispers.

“Look after your sister, now,” Dad says, tipping up Carl’s chin.  The thought of his little tiny sister, the last bit of Mom he’s ever going to see, puts stillness in Carl’s spine, and Camarin tips back her head.

“I will,” Carl promises, feels it like Cam’s settling, bone-deep, layered with dust.

“We will,” Cam adds, her grown voice every inch Ellie’s wolf-growl. 

Carl’s dad smiles, pulling his son in for a hug.  “That’s my boy,” he says, and Carl doesn’t understand why he sounds sad.  “That’s my boy.”

\-----

There’s blood in his mouth and golden dust bleeding from Meiri’s fur.  Merle laughs at him. 

“C’mon, man,” Merle says.  “Jus’ tell me where Daryl is an’ I’ll let’cha go, yeah?  You an’ your pretty girl.  Easy-peasy.  No sweat.”

 _Don’t tell him,_ Meiri says.  She struggles against her bindings, trying to eel her way free.  _Should’ve picked snake instead of otter.  More fluid._

 _Should’ve picked elephant,_ Glenn thinks weakly.  _Then you could just step on his bitch ass._

The hyena snaps her terrible jaws.  “I can eat the pretty kitty,” she giggles.  “He can listen.  Think he’ll talk then?”

Merle grins wickedly, bringing his bladed arm to Glenn’s eye.  ( _Seriously_ , Mei thinks crossly, _this isn’t fucking Saw.  Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to give Merle a bladed arm?)_

“I dunno,” he sings.  “Guess we gonna find out, huh?”

(“Don’t tell him,” Meiri pleads, over and over again.  The blows keep coming, from Merle and his hyena.  She’s bleeding dust.  His blood splatters the floor.  “Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, don’t tell him—)

\-----

“You’re a mess, aren’t you,” Luke said, watching Meiri pace the length of the room.  She chittered at him, her fur fluffed and threatened. 

“She doesn’t ever really stop moving,” Glenn offered.  “It’s, uh, just a thing.”

Maggie shakes her head.  “Figures,” she muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Maggie gave him a _look,_ half exasperated, half fond.  “It _means_ she fits you perfectly, hon.”

Glenn wisely stayed quiet on that one—he could feel Meiri daring him to say something about what they used to be.  (But it didn’t make much difference—even as a heron she’d never really been still.  She was always pacing, always fluttering from place to place.) 

Maggie sighed, hopping off the couch to take his hand.  Luke followed her, winding between their legs.  His weight was warm and solid.  Reassuring. 

Meiri slowed down, just a little.

“Relax,” Maggie said quietly.  “My dad’s gonna be okay with us, I promise.”

Glenn smiled weakly.  “But what if he isn’t?” 

“His loss!”  Mei called.  “We’re fucking awesome!”

“Not helpful, Mei.”

But Maggie was laughing, cupping his face.  “Sweetheart,” she said.  “If my daddy doesn’t love you, he’s as blind as a bat.”

Meiri cackled.  “See, Glenn,” she said, satisfied.  “I told you that everything, even awkward, piss-poor sex in a convenience store, happens for a reason.”

\-----

“Thank you,” Rick says unnecessarily, stopping to meet Daryl’s eyes. 

Daryl shifts, uncomfortable.  “Weren’t nothin’,” he mutters.  Shay smacks his head lightly, amused.

“I mean it,” Rick insists, touching Daryl’s shoulder.  Ellie bumps Daryl’s leg fondly.  “Thank you for what you did, for my son and my baby.  I appreciate it.  I—”

“It’s what we do,” Shay says, because Daryl’s communication skills are failing.  “You would’a done the same for us.” 

Rick smiles.  One of his genuine grins, with Ellie laughing quietly at his feet.  “I’m grateful,” he says.  (Sword-bitch is watching them warily, her face unreadable.  Her ratty wildcat daemon mutters something in her ear.  Shay clatters at him.)

“Don’t mention it,” Daryl mutters, but he feels good all the same.  “Now c’mon, we gonna find our idiot Short Round or what?”

\-----

Glenn touches Luke’s fur, tenderly.  “It’s gonna be okay,” he says.  Maggie looks at him, Meiri cuddled into her arms.  “Maggie, it’s gonna be okay, I promise.  It’s gonna—”

He stops, swallowing convulsively.

“It’s gonna hurt,” Meiri says quietly.  She lies very still in Maggie’s arms.  “But then it’s gonna be over, okay?  It’s gonna be over.  We’ll be with you the whole time.  We won’t leave you.”

(And this, Glenn thinks— _knows_ —is the reason that she changed when all of this started.  Meiri changed so that when it came to this, she could face death bravely.  A bird can fly away—a bird can prove a coward.  Glenn will not be a coward, not in front of Maggie.) 

Maggie gives him a watery smile.  Luke’s purr is breaking against his fingertips.  “We know,” she says.  They’re kneeling and men are coming to take them to die.  Soon, they’ll be nothing but dust and empty bone.  

“I love you,” Maggie says.

“Don’t look away from me,” Glenn says. 

Meiri buries her head against Maggie’s neck.  Luke shivers under Glenn’s fingers.  (But they’re together.  Together and connected.  All the pieces of him and all the pieces of her will not break apart.) 

“We won’t,” she says. 

He smiles.

\-----

When Sophia came out of the barn, Shay’s feathers changed color.  All at once they went from soft, light brown to stone gray.  She keened, a terrible wail bleeding from her throat, and dropped like all her joints had been cut.  Separated.  Severed.

Sophia didn’t look too bad, all things considered.  That was the worst bit.  Except for the bite on her shoulder she looked almost normal.  Like she had just been sleeping all this time, safe in that damn barn.

She looked like her little daemon—what was his name, Ol-something?

 _Olah,_ Shaylyn grieved.  _She called him Olly.  He’d just settled._

—was gonna come out from under her hair, sing a song on her shoulder.

Rick shot her.  Cleanly, just once.  Right through the head—he was good like that.  He didn’t want anyone to suffer.  Especially not a little girl.

Sophia fell with a small sound and Carol shivered in Daryl’s arms.  Her daemon, a jackrabbit, whimpered. 

Shay dropped to Daryl’s shoulders again, her talons digging in, so tight they were almost painful.  She felt like her heart had been cut out.

“We didn’t find her,” she whispered.

Daryl tried to harden his heart—he remembered Merle’s lessons, _what you don’t feel don’t hurt you_.  He was stone.  Unfeeling.  Shaylyn was a falcon—she didn’t have to live down here on the ground, among all this hurting.  She could just fly away.  _He_ could just fly away.  That’s why she had wings.

“Wasn’t our responsibility,” he said roughly.   _She wasn’t,_ he told himself, over and over again.  _She wasn’t ours.  She wasn’t—_

\-----

Michonne is standing at the end of her gun, smeared with blood, Merikh shaking and snarling at her feet.

Phillip is behind her, curled on the ground.  There’s blood everywhere.  His daemon doesn’t move.

“Michonne,” Andrea breathes.  She can’t even process it.  Her friend, her _friend_.  Michonne’s one of the terrorists.  She’s one of the people who attacked her home tonight.  Who killed good people.

Michonne might have even led the terrorists here.  She knew that Woodbury was a good place.  She knew that honest people lived here.  She _knew,_ and she brought killers here.

Betrayal cuts Andrea to the bone and Lee lets out a low, grieving moan. 

Andrea should pull the trigger.  Michonne _betrayed_ her.  She let monsters come into this safe haven.  She hurt Phillip, who had shown her nothing but kindness.

She should kill Michonne for what she’s done. 

But—

Andrea lets out a deep, pained breath.  “Go,” she says, turning away.  She lets Michonne and Merikh slide past them.  Lee whimpers, pressed into her leg.  Andrea can’t—won’t—look. 

She does turn around, though, to make sure that Michonne has left.  Merikh stares at her, his expression unreadable.  He watches her for a moment, and then follows his human out the door.

It feels like a death all over again.

Andrea turns around, shoulders slumping.   “Lee,” she whispers.  “I don’t know what to do.”

\-----

She’d heard stories of people changing.  Mostly it happened slowly, over the course of days and weeks.  Tiny changes, like garish orange darkening to woodland brown or tame little kitten claws sharpening into an ocelot’s ferocious swipe. 

And even if the change did happen suddenly, a daemon usually stayed within the same family of animals.  Housecat to bobcat.  Garter snake to king cobra.  Pigeon to falcon.

Of _course_ Lee had to be unconventional about it. 

Lee changed in the space of a second.  Andrea didn’t even feel it—one second he was an eagle dropping to the ground, screaming in despair (the car was getting farther and farther away—they had _left_ her), and the next he was a lion on the ground.

That night, she had ridden him to safety.  It had been strange, clinging to her daemon’s shoulders.  Lee moved like a wild thing, all coiled muscle and deep strength.  It felt good.  Solid.  _Right._

They ran and ran for hours, fighting off anything that came at them.  Lee’s paws were big and strong—he could knock a walker’s head off with a swipe.  She never missed. 

They ran until they collapsed, the pair of them, Andrea and her new, earth-bound soul.  He shielded her with his body.  His snarl echoed in her bones. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, teeth bared.  She liked his new, fierce eyes.   They were blue like Amy’s had been, kind and familiar. 

She smiled at him.  “Don’t be.”

\-----

Ellie’s mouth was still full of dried blood.  It was smeared around her jaws, down her chest, splattering her paws.  Some of it was walker blood.  Some of it was Rick’s.  (She had screamed when he killed Shane.  She had screamed and screamed and he had let her tear into his hands.  He deserved it.) 

But most of it was Shane’s, wasn’t it.  She had howled when he died, but she had fought just as fiercely.  Underneath the blood was the dust that had once been her shadow. 

(In the seconds before her death Kali had been enormous.  She had been twice Ellie’s size.  She had been something _more_ than just a wolf—more dangerous, more vicious, _more._ ) 

She had screamed again when Lori turned away.  Ben had refused her whine.  Lori wouldn’t let Rick touch her.  She wouldn’t let him _explain._ Just one short, aborted howl, and then Ellie was silent again.

She was prowling around the fire now, all white light and dark, dried blood.  Her eyes glittered.  It made everyone nervous. 

Rick listened to them argue, these people who he’d done his best to protect ( _pack_ ).  They went for each other’s throats like walkers fighting over a kill.  There was no order.  No structure.  Just chaos.

He met Ellie’s eyes through the flames.  After all this, they were still just as blue as his own. 

“That’s enough,” he barked, voice rough.  No one listened. 

“ _That’s enough,_ ” Ellie thundered, teeth flashing.  Everyone froze.

 _Thank you,_ Rick’s shoulders said.

 _You’re welcome,_ the glide of Ellie’s paws said.

After that, it all came spilling out.  His fury.  His grief.  His _guilt._ “I killed my best friend for you people!”

Carl started to cry. 

Rick didn’t like how they were all looking at him—well, not him, but Ellie.  He didn’t like the shock in their faces.  The doubt.  The raw terror.

( _I don’t want to hurt you,_ he thought.  _I’m just trying to protect you._ )

“You killed him,” Carl whispered.  Camarin hid under his shirt.  His own son was scared of him.  It hurt more than Rick thought it would. 

 _Why are you looking at me like that?_ He wanted to scream.  _Why are you looking at me like I’m a monster?_

Ellie came to his side, her lean body pressing against his legs briefly, a comfort.  He could read her intentions in her eyes.  _Because you’re a wolf,_ she said.

Rick canted his head, considering.  He stood the same way that Eliora did, feet spread, shoulders back.  Showing just a hint of tooth.  He wound his fingers into her fur carefully. 

 _Well,_ he thought.  _No use fighting it._

 _It is what it is,_ Ellie said wisely, but this time she sounded sad.  _We’re exactly what we’re supposed to be._    

\-----

When they bring Daryl in front of her, Lee is so angry he can’t even think.  She had spent the night thinking _terrorists._ Thinking _enemies._ She had found a target and she had found something to rip apart.

She had been fully prepared to kill them.

And these terrorists are her friends.  They have to be—Daryl wouldn’t leave Rick.  Rick wouldn’t leave Daryl.

Rick’s here somewhere.  Rick and maybe Shane and Glenn and God knows who else.  Her _friends._

And she had meant to kill them.

Andrea feels sick.  Sick and guilty and most of all afraid—they’re going to hurt Daryl.  She can feel it in the air like a fresh kill, blood running down Lee’s jaws. 

They’re going to hurt Daryl. 

She can’t let them hurt Daryl.

“Phillip!”  she shouts, desperate to make herself heard.  She shoulders her way through the crowd, letting Lee shove the others out of the way.  “Phillip, don’t hurt him!  Daryl!  Daryl!”

“Grab her,” Phillip says coldly.  His daemon’s eyes glitter meanly.  “Don’t let her interfere.  This is our business, isn’t it?”

The crowd roars.  The Governor’s daemon gives a hungry wolf-smile. 

They’re going to hurt Daryl.  The hyena is circling Shaylyn like prey, Merle’s daemon is going to kill his brother’s, and Lee roars—

It takes six daemons to hold her Leander down.  Andrea is furious.  She’s beyond furious.  White flashes in front of her eyes and she just wants to make it all stop.  Daryl doesn’t want to hurt anyone.  He’s _Daryl._

And then Merle throws the first punch and Daryl stumbles.  His Shaylyn keens.   He’s not going to fight back, Andrea can see it.  She has to fight, to save him—

And then the air goes thick and smoky and she can see shadows—among them a pale, snarling wolf, _Rick’s here_ —dart through the crowd.  There’s gunfire and screaming.   Blood.  Bursts of golden dust as daemons collapse and die.

When the smoke clears, Daryl and Merle are gone.  The Governor is staggering, a great glittering gash torn in his daemon’s face.

He meets her eyes.  Andrea stares.  (What she sees there scares her.)  Lee is snarling deep in his throat, barely contained.  He trembles. 

Suddenly, she knows that nothing will ever be the same again.

\-----

Hekate has Shay in her jaws when Eliora comes to save her.  Hekate is a second away from crunching down, from breaking Shay apart and scattering her Dust into the wind. 

Merle is going to kill him.  _Merle—_

For the second time in their life, Shaylyn nearly changes.  Daryl feels something _huge_ swell underneath her feathers, something with a forest of claws and teeth that would rip Hekate’s jaws apart.  Shay doesn’t change, because she doesn’t have to.

Ellie comes out of nowhere, white fur trailing smoke.  She closes her jaws around Hekate’s neck, shaking viciously.  His brother’s daemon yowls, and Shay flies free.

After that it’s a mess.  Shay is screaming and gouging eyes with her talons.  Ellie and Hekate wrestle for a moment, wolf and hyena, and then the one-eyed man’s daemon joins the fray and she and Ellie duel, claws splayed and fangs bared.

Rick grabs Daryl’s shoulder, cutting him loose and pressing a crossbow into his hands.  Eliora opens a great, Dusty gash on the one-eyed man’s strange daemon.

They’re running, all of them, gunfire and shouting and Rick at Daryl’s right side, Maggie at the other.  Ellie lets Shaylyn dig her talons into her white fur, hanging on for dear life.

They make it out.  They pile into a battered car, even Merle, shaking like leaves.  Specters claw at their windows.  The one-eyed man howls like a beaten thing.

 _Rick came back for us,_ Shaylyn whispers.  She’s trembling.  Her feathers are still damp—she won’t look Hekate in the eye.  _Rick came back for us, and Merle_ —

When they get back to the prison, Merle steps out with his usual swagger, Hekate’s teeth bared in a slobbery grin.   “Home sweet home,” he drawls.

The slope of Ellie’s shoulders and the position of Rick’s hands say otherwise.

What happens next is second nature.

“Daryl?”  Merle says hesitantly from the sights of his crossbow.  Shay folds her wings. 

_It’s okay,_ she says.  _It’s okay, it was bound to happen someday._

Hekate takes a step forward, the hint of a threat in her jaws.  (Old body language—Daryl’s seen posing like that since he was a little kid.  He knows what it means, what it’s for.  It’s supposed to make him scared.  It used to. 

It doesn’t anymore.) 

“Daryl,” Merle says again.  “What the hell you doin’, man?”

Daryl can feel Rick’s eyes on the back of his neck.  Ellie is a solid weight at his heels.  “Don’t take another step,” Shay hisses.   “Don’t you dare take another step, Merle. We’re not gonna let you hurt these people.”

“I’m _family,_ ” Merle hisses, outraged. 

Daryl’s still bleeding from where Merle hit him.  Shay’s still missing feathers.  He smiles coldly.  “You’re blood,” he says quietly.  “There’s a difference.”    

\-----

“We could just leave,” Carol said wistfully, watching the low fire through the trees.  “You and me.  We could go find a little cabin somewhere, wait out the rest of our days in the quiet.”

Daryl snorted.  “Naw,” he murmured.  “Here’s good enough.”

“Rick _lied_ to us,” Carol’s daemon insisted.  His name was [Roosevelt](http://runariran.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/jack_rabbit.jpg)—Daryl had learned that in the days following Sophia’s death, when Carol refused to leave him alone.

Shay nipped his ear.  “You’re being grumpy again,” she muttered. 

“Rick’s done alright by me,” Daryl said.  He wasn’t about to abandon the man.  Rick had just lost Shane.  He needed someone to step up, bridge the gap between him and the others.  Daryl might not be the best candidate but he was as good as Grimes was gonna get.

“He killed his friend!  What’s to say that he won’t do that to the rest of us!”

Daryl could see where she was coming from, he really could.  (Falcons had clear sight, after all.  He could read between the lines.)  She was scared and tired and confused.  Rick had a tendency to get what he said and what he meant tangled up.  (Fucking wolves.)  But Daryl could see his grief in the line of his shoulders.  His regret in the jerk of his hands. 

Rick was grieving.  He wouldn’t hurt anybody—he wasn’t stable enough to even take out a walker right now.  (Ellie had left his side some time ago.  She hadn’t come back yet.) 

He pressed his mouth into a thin line.  “I’m stayin’,” he said firmly.  Shay nodded, clacking her beak.  “Rick—I owe Rick that much.”

Carol looked at him, disbelieving.  Roosevelt looked away.  “Why?”

 _Because he’s bleeding to death,_ he didn’t say.  _Because I can see the Dust coming undone in Ellie’s fur.  I can see them breaking apart._

_Because he showed your daughter what mercy he could, even if it was a small one._

“Because,” Shaylyn said, digging her talons in tight.  “He’s our friend.”

\-----

She and Michonne got along pretty well.  Merikh wasn’t very talkative but then Lee wasn’t either, in the beginning.  (He had spent too long as an eagle with broken wings.  He was still learning how to be a lion.)

The winter was long and hard.  They were starving most of the time, and when they weren’t they were exhausted.  But it wasn’t bad. 

Lee fit this shape better.  His fur was so pale it was nearly white, so they stood out, but he was strong and fast and she was getting faster.  They were shedding who they had been, bit by bit.  They were growing into themselves.

He was big enough to ride, and she did whenever she split from Michonne.  (Rarely.  Michonne’s pets made moving around pretty safe.)    She liked being this close to him.  When he flew he could never fly with her, but running like this was nearly the same.

The first few months passed in silence.  Michonne and Merikh kept to themselves.  She and Lee relearned each other. 

Then, one day, Lee scooped up Merikh playfully, picking up the smaller cat in his jaws.  Merikh yowled, swiping at his nose, but Lee just laughed.

“What did you do that for?” Michonne hissed, more alarmed than angry.  (Andrea thought.)   Merikh growled under his breath, painstakingly smoothing down his rumpled fur.

Lee just laughed like Isaac used to laugh, deep and happy.  _Pride,_ he thought fondly. 

Andrea smiled. 

\-----

He sends her to the prison like she’s still his.  “Go and stay there,” he says softly.  He brushes her hair off her face gently.  “I don’t trust Merle to get this job done.  Earn their trust.  See if you can get them to leave.”

She leans back a little so she can look him in his eye.  “Can they come here?”  she says.

The Governor frowns. 

“They’re not bad people,” she argues.  Lee snarls in agreement.  “They’re just scared.  They’ll be good here, I promise.”

“They attacked us,” the Governor points out.  “They killed our people.”

“And we killed some of theirs.”  She will not bend.  She doesn’t have to, she knows that now.  A lion doesn’t bow to anyone. “They won’t hurt you once they know you’re not their enemy.  That’s not Rick’s way, I _promise._ ”

He makes a show of thinking about it.  His daemon paces behind him, swinging her head from side to side. 

She takes a deep breath.  “If they betray you, I’ll kill them myself,” she lies.  She makes it convincing, though.  She puts all she has into that lie. 

He smiles.  (He thinks he’s won.  Lee can barely conceal his fury.)  “Alright,” he says agreeably.  “Alright.  Try and convince them to come here.  You’ve got my blessing.”

She smiles coyly, balancing on her toes to kiss his cheek.  Phillip winds his fingers into her hair, pulling her in for a kiss.  His grip is tight, almost bruising.  She bears it, for now. 

“Be careful,” he rumbles.  His fingers find her wrist and squeeze.  (She’ll carry the bruise for days.) 

She smiles widely.  (He doesn’t know enough about lions to recognize this kind of smile—this is the kind of smile that brings down wildebeest.  That rips meat from bone and crushes skulls.  The kind that kills.  She learned it from Michonne.)  “I will be,” she promises. 

“I’ll see you again,” the Governor says.  It sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself.

She throws a careless grin over her shoulder, hand on Lee’s broad shoulders.  “You know it, lover boy,” she says, and then she’s gone. 

\-----

“Are you scared?”  Maggie asked quietly.  Winter-dark had finally descended on Georgia—outside, everything was still and cold and snowy.

Meiri fluffed her fur, sliding off Glenn’s shoulder to sit in his lap.  “No,” she said boldly.  “We’re not scared.”

Luke laughed quietly.  He sat just outside of Glenn’s reach, his eyes reflecting their little fire.  Glenn wondered what his fur felt like.  Mei shifted closer to Maggie, close enough to touch, if Maggie wanted.

“We’re not scared either,” Luke said.  Glenn was always surprised by his voice.  It was surprisingly light for an animal like him (serval cat, Glenn had finally asked).  Glenn would have thought that his voice was deeper.

He smiled.  Held out his hand, palm up.  Just offering. 

Maggie smiled back.  “Meiri,” she said.  She sounded nervous, but she hid it well. 

Meiri looked at Glenn.  Glenn looked at Maggie.  Maggie looked at Luke.

Meiri huffed, and shoved her head under Maggie’s hand.

All of a sudden, Glenn didn’t have any words.  He didn’t need any words.  There was thunder in his chest and lightning bursting down his fingertips.  He could feel Maggie through Meiri and it was _amazing._

He touched Luke hesitantly, letting the serval leap into his arms and push up against his chin, purring so hard he felt like he was going to fly apart. 

“Hmm,” Meiri said, pleased.  “See?  I told you it would work.”

All four of them laughed, souls all tangled up in each other.

“Meiri,” Glenn said fondly, “for once in your life, _be still_.”

And for once in her life, Meiri was.   

\-----

They stand just outside the prison, watching Grimes and his people move around inside the fence. 

“They think they’re safe,” Lilith snarls.  “They think that nothing can get to them.”  Her eye tracks the white wolf, who circles the fence a hundred feet away from her man. 

Rick Grimes.

It’s not hard to guess which one he is.  (The one holding Merle by the shirt collar, in his face and fearless.) 

His daemon cost Lilith one of her eyes.

Lilith will tear out her throat.

“But not before I kill the rest of them in front of him,” Lily growls, her voice soft and sweet.  “The boy first, then the Asian and his girl.  Dixon.  The old man.”

Her eye is drawn to Andrea and her Leander.  The two stand awkwardly off to the side, not quite welcomed home with open arms.  

There’s a baby in there too, a little bitty one that would fit into Lily’s jaws easily.

“Phillip,” Lily says, admonishing.  “Don’t think like that.  I wouldn’t eat the baby.”  _I would have her as our own,_ she means.

The Governor smiles crookedly.  Kill Grimes.  Steal his baby.  Burn the prison to the ground. 

“What do you think?”  Lily says, her teeth bared and dripping.  “Good plan?”

Phillip lets the darkness in his heart swell and burst like a damn.  “Perfect,” he says.

\-----

“Why d’you stick around?”  she asked Michonne, her head pounding.  Her whole body hurt.  She felt like she was dying—like her bones were made of glass and like her blood was dust in her veins.  Lee was too weak to run.  “You should go.  Leave us.  We’re just dragging you down.”

Michonne was quiet for a moment. 

Then, very tentatively, Merikh leaned across the space between him and Lee and liked the lion’s face.

“We’re not gonna leave you,” Meesch grumbled.  “That’s just the fever talkin’.  Eat this and rest.  You’ll be fine in the morning.”

It’s a lie, but it’s the kind of lie Andrea used to tell Amy.  It’s the kind of lie Lee used to tell Isaac, cradling the smaller daemon tenderly. 

Leander grumbled, wrapping a massive paw around Merikh’s smaller body and pulling him close.  The bobcat hissed, but let him. 

Andrea smiled.  “Thanks,” she whispered. 

Meesch muttered something unintelligible.  (It sounded like, “You’d do the same for me.”)

Lee hummed sleepily.  _Well,_ he said. _We would._

\-----

“So,” Rick says quietly, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  The Governor smiles at him, all teeth.  His daemon looks a bit like a wolf, but her legs are too long and her eye is too crazed. 

Whatever they are, it isn’t good.  Tension, heavier than the dust in his bones, bears down on him.  ( _Easy,_ his Ellie says.  _It’s okay.  I’m here with you._ ) 

 _Be careful,_ Ellie murmurs.  She bares her teeth, a warning. 

“So,” says the Governor agreeably.  “You’re the famous Rick Grimes, huh?  Officer Friendly?”

Rick lets the set of his shoulders speak for him.  Eliora watches. 

The Governor tilts his head, looking them up and down.  He smiles.  It promises a few things, none of them pleasant.

Rick isn’t afraid.  He can’t be—he has Carl and Judy at home to take care of, to protect.  He will _not_ be afraid.  He’s going to protect them even if he damns himself doing so.  (He is, after all, a wolf.)

“We’ve got some things to talk about,” the Governor says.

Rick looks him dead in the eye.  “Yes,” he says.  “I think that we do.”

\-----

“I think I’m settled,” his Ellie said, blinking up at him, unsure. 

Rick was twelve.  No one else in his class was settled yet and they already thought he was weird, too quiet, too serious, too quick to pick a fight.  What were they going to say when he came in settled, a _wolf_?

“I’m not,” Ellie said, pinning her ears.  She was the color of snow.  “I’m not a wolf.”

“You look like one,” he blurted, before he could stop himself. 

She pulled away, hurt. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, too fast, rushing to her.  He hesitated for a second, just a second, before tangling his hands into her fur—it was soft—and pulling her long face to his own, meeting her eyes.

Her eyes were the exact same shade of blue as his own.  She was _him,_ through and through, and he could feel her settling in his bones. 

He was twelve.  He was settled.  He was a wolf.

“I am _not_ a wolf,” Ellie insisted, trying to pull away, and he caught a flash of tooth.  Rick held her tight.

“Ellie,” he said, throat closing up like it always did, because he couldn’t—he didn’t—he had things inside of himself that he couldn’t say, that didn’t want to be said, and he always screwed it up somehow, always, that’s why he got in fights so much, twice as much as Shane who was, as his father liked to say, an irresponsible little douchebag.   “Ellie, it’s—”

Rick took a deep breath.  He didn’t _care_ if she was a wolf or not.  So what, people would look at him funny.  People would think that he was sick, that he was angry.  It didn’t matter.  He didn’t care. 

He couldn’t seem to say it, but he needed her to feel it.  She settled.  He could too. 

“It doesn’t matter, what you look like,” he managed.  “What matters is—”

Ellie sighed, leaning into him.  “It’s okay,” she whispered.  “I understand.” 

“It’s not,” he insisted.  “What Mom used to say, she’s right.  It doesn’t matter what you look like.  It doesn’t matter how big you are, or how small.”

His Ellie laughed, licking his nose.  “What matters is the size of your heart,” she finished. 

Rick grinned, pulling her into a bear hug.  She felt right against him.  Whole.  “That’s right,” he said into her fur.  “You’re—you’re what you’re meant to be.”

Ellie hummed.  “We,” she corrected.  “We.  We are exactly what we’re meant to be.”  
  
  


 

“Maybe I was born with you inside me.  Maybe I have always carried you with me.  Maybe you are all the wild in me.”  - _Typewriter Series #249,_ Tyler Knott Gregson 

**Author's Note:**

> Rick’s Group:
> 
> Glenn—Meiri: Hebrew, “giving light.” An Oriental Small-Clawed otter. Otters are positive symbols of unconventional thinking, imagination, intelligence, and intuition. Otters are negatively symbolized with rebellion or isolation. In mythology otters were often the best at finding food and tools, but could often be taken advantage of because of their friendliness. The otter’s kindness often led to his death. 
> 
> Maggie—Luke: Latin, “a sacred wood.” A serval cat. Cats positively symbolize cleverness, independence, protection, love, and the ability to fight when backed into a corner. Cats negatively symbolize pride, aloofness, selectiveness, and secrets. Cats in Ancient Egypt were worshiped as deities and powerful spirits. In Norse lore, they are considered a blessing onto newborns and were thought to fiercely defend children. 
> 
> Hershel—Ashling: English, “a dream, a reverie, a vision.” A raven. Ravens are positive symbols of healing, knowledge, wisdom, and protection. Ravens are negative symbols of trickery, abrasiveness, foolishness, and death. In Norse mythology ravens were the watchers of Odin, observing the universe and reporting back to him. In real life, ravens often lead animals like wolves to prey, so that they can share in the kill. 
> 
> Beth—Moshe: Hebrew, “drawn out.” 
> 
> Andrea—Leander: Latin, “lion-man.” A white lion. Lions are positively associated with courage, strength, ferocity, and dignity. Negatively lions are associated with foolishness, pride, laziness, and rage. Lions are considered symbols of both holiness and unholiness, and so are often thought to have dual natures. In mythology the lion is both a fierce enemy and a loyal friend. 
> 
> Daryl—Shaylyn: English, “hawk-like.” A Nankeen Kestrel, a species of falcon. Falcons positively symbolize swiftness, good judgment, natural leadership, persistence, sight, and efficiency. They are negatively symbolized with arrogance, rudeness, intolerance, and impatience. Falcons are the fastest birds and have extraordinary eyesight, making them ideal hunters. The Ancient Egyptian Sky God, Horus, was depicted as having the head of a falcon. 
> 
>  
> 
> Others:
> 
> Michonne—Merikh: Arabic/Persian for Mars, the god of War, “death, slaughter.” A bobcat. Positively associated with clear vision, ability to live in solitude, and ability to see through masks. Negatively associated with aggression, suspicious, and unfriendliness. In Native American mythology, the bobcat was one of four animals who helped rid the earth of the evil ones. 
> 
> Shane—Kali: Hindu, “devourer of time.” A black wolf. Wolves are symbols of loyalty, intelligence, friendliness, deep faith, profound understanding, and compassion. Negatively wolves are symbols of anger, vindictiveness, and obsessiveness. Wolves in real life communicate primarily through body language. In the Native American legend of the Two Wolves, the black wolf is the symbol of greed, anger, spite, pain, and fear. 
> 
> Morgan—Chizoba: Igbo, “God protect us.” An Asian golden cat. Combines the symbolism of a cat—cleverness, clear sight, protection, hidden information—with the symbolism of a mountain lion—intention, strength, and cunning. Negatively symbolized with savagery, fury, and guilt. 
> 
> Jenner—Gwenllian: Welsh, “holy flood.” 
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> Woodbury:
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> Phillip Blake—Lilith: Hebrew, “of the night.” Biblically the first wife of Adam, who overstepped her position and was cast into hell, where she became the first demon. A maned wolf. Maned wolves are neither wolves not foxes, and so are thought to combine the traits of both. Positively associated with cleverness, leadership, survival, communication and adaptability. Negatively associated with anger, greed, hunger, and viciousness. May suggest a dual nature. In real life maned wolves are one of the few canid species that does not seek out packs, preferring instead to hunt and live alone. 
> 
> Merle—Hekate: Greek, “worker from far off.” In myth she was a leader of a witch’s coven, responsible for many of the great tragedies that afflicted the world. A striped hyena. Hyenas are positively symbolized with strength, adaptability, and endurance. They are the negative symbols of viciousness, aggression, and death. In Christian mythology the hyena is the symbol of the Devil.


End file.
